Looting
by Many Oranges
Summary: Sixteen year old Carl is given the duty of looting a particular house in a neighborhood. Unbeknownst to him, someone else is doing a very similar job in the same household. And in no time at all, everything starts to go wrong. Rated T thus far for mild violence and threats.
1. Intruders

**Author's note:**

**Because I feel extremely bad for the fact Carl has very few friends he can relate to in the way that normal children could before the Zombie apocalypse, I decided to imagine a situation in which he would meet someone who could potentially become his friend. **

**I am not sure whether to continue this or not, but here it is. I will not make this a one shot yet until I am absolutely certain it is not to be continued. **

**Thank you for taking the time to read this- I appreciate that it is very short and any further entries should they be introduced, will be substantially longer. **

**Enjoy :)**

* * *

Eileen crept through the house, knife on hand, trying desperately to not be heard by whatever was lurking upstairs.

Slowly, she ascended the staircase being careful not to stumble. It didn't matter who it was, so long as she looted and booted out of there.

It was a fairly substantial American household: large staircase with a banister; smothered with contemporary family photography; and beige walls. A home, but definitely not a house- it was far to orderly and bare to be welcoming, but it's emptiness was more than inviting given that there might be food or useful items about.

She reached a bathroom and quietly switched on the sink tap, her hopes of anything entirely low. That was of course, until a limited trickle descended from the metal that she swept up hurriedly and splashed against her sweating and blistering skin. Smartly, she opened the cupboard above the sink and found a bottle of after sun, which she generously lathered about her arms, face, ears and neck.

Crippling her very soul, she heard a creak drawing nearer from the furthest bedroom. Briskly, she grabbed her satchel from between her legs and made a break towards the lone member of company. Much like a spy from her beloved movies before this disaster, she slid across the wall before the furthest bedroom. She didn't have time to think about its interior before she expertly launched her knife at the person dwelling in the room. It was definitely a male, she was sure; and quite young too, but she refused to befriend anyone straight away. Trust was a rarity that was best kept restricted only for those who are truly loyal. This person however was clearly competition that she had to deter from further movement.

The knife landed exactly where she needed it to- piercing the wall half a metre away from the boy. Approximately her age, he was rather small with a lanky build and a striking sheriff's hat. He looked startled, but for the most part impassive. Equally quickly he drew and brandished a gun, to which she responded with the same action.

"Put- put your weapon down!" Eileen harshly whispered trying to assert dominance that which she was lacking. She might have been more intimidating had she been used to addressing potentially threatening _not_ un-dead people.

He made a noise, something oh-so similar to a half-hearted snort. "You first," he sneered. "I was here first, so put _your_ gun down, or so help me I will shoot you,"

"How do you know that I want to hurt you?"

"Because you…you threw a knife at me!"

Eileen lowered her gun and delivered a patronising glare. "That's what I wanted you to believe-"

"How do I know you're not just saying that to mess with me? Maybe you just missed me!" He stepped closer, the gun end even closer to her petite nose.

"Hmmm…well I have more weapons than you!"

He stopped for thought.

Sadly, they were both about the same age and therefore were very inexperienced in addressing people similar to themselves. Frankly, their approach to one another was proving abysmal thus far.

"Perhaps you do, but what about more loot?"

Her bag was small enough, and only half filled. His was a backpack, barely closed. A good point indeed. "What about muscle power?" She began. "I clearly run a lot more than you!"

"Yeah but…you're on your own?" She remained impassive with a minimal shake of the head, which he interpreted correctly as a yes. "I have a group. They'd negotiate with you if you were to meet them…"

"What if I don't want to?"

"What if I make you?" He snapped. _He's very quick, I must say. Stay cautious though…he looks like he's prepared to skin a lion alive if that's what it takes. _

"…What if…I stop you-?"

"-What if I disarm you?"

"…What if I leave before you can do anything?"

Silence.

Weapons were lowered back into pockets.

The boy put his hands in his pockets and shied away beneath his hat. "Your name?"

"Yours first!" Eileen countered, stubbornly.

"Fine," he grunted. "…It's Carl." It became apparent that he was too weak to argue, and followed the smallest instinct her found telling him to at least try- it was first person he'd met his age in years.

Following this, Eileen strolled quickly over to the wall, and ripped the blade from it. Carl reached for his gun again, only to change his mind when instead of stabbing him, she put it in her satchel. "I am Eileen."

"Good," _Stupid idiot! What kind of response is good? …She's clever, so say something clever back! You cannot let yourself be undermined by an intelligent person…they can trick you far too easily. She doesn't seem entirely confident though… if she tries to pull anything, I'll end her. I'll end her before she can blink. _

"Yes," she sighed sadly. "I suppose that it is. I'm fifteen, by the way. I figured that it was information that you'd want to know."

"…I'm sixteen." Carl said. He whispered the last part. "I hate this existence."

The sun was setting outside, the house therefore darkening. She spoke carefully in reply. "My thoughts exactly…Carl." She tried what could be called a smile, and looked down at her feet unsure of what action to take next.


	2. Darkness Descending

Rick paced around uncertainly, balling his fists in anger seething. Carl was meant to return as soon as possible, yet he had taken quite a while. He wouldn't go as far to say that he was annoyed with his son, given that he trusted him, but he was disappointed. He thought that his son would know the dangers of taking bypasses alone, or wandering further than expected. Yes, he was older these days, but it gave him no right to disobey orders. And now, Rick didn't know whether to allow panic to build up inside him, search for him, or wait a little longer. It was beyond his knowledge whether he had gotten hurt, or stuck.

The sun was setting at a startlingly rapid pace and Rick, accompanied by Eugene, Michonne and Sasha were stumped regarding what action to take next.

For a long time, Eugene had a particular affinity for elaborate lies and smarts, which distracted others from his lack of ability in other areas, such as being able to use a weapon. These days, two years after the passing of the young blonde girl, Abraham has spent countless hours giving him tuition on guns, and proper technique for knives. Of course, being rather unfit as he was, running was not an option, so naturally he acquired a decent level of skill required for basic survival very quickly. Days spent with Abraham were harsh and even memories of it were deafening: the screaming of demands and insults about his weakness were very much fresh in his brain, yet he had grown to find some sort of respect towards his mustachioed instructor. However, these years later he still felt guilt prodding at he pit of his stomach for lying about his cure ideas. He often found that the group avoided conversing with him wherever possible out of spite and pure dislike for his actions. Yet he continued to steal portions of the rations available; contaminate the limited shelter space they have; brandish their personal weaponry- not a single word is said about it.

This confused Eugene, as he himself would never forgive anyone for misdeeds like his own. Perhaps they were keeping him for potential scenarios as biter bait? Once as it drew nightfall in a small warehouse several months ago, he had laid on a cushion and theorised that perhaps they kept him for his smarts, or kept him because he knew too much. One of the most prominent theories he had was just that they were tolerant people. In the time he had spent with them, they had been hardworking and resilient, determined to survive and thrive, and treat everyone with equal happiness. They were close knit for sure, but Eugene felt that he was certainly a separate part of the group dynamic despite the nights he'd spent sleeping next to them all.

Unfortunately though, he knew himself that he was still a coward and wanted to drag out his life for as long as possible until he could die naturally of old age as any human being should do. He wanted to protect himself, and staying with this group was the only way manageable. But now, Rick's son had detoured leaving us stranded without his company and Eugene began to notice a glaring of thick and bloodied bodies moving slowing from behind the group. A suitably large distance away, they could not be heard nor seen by the others: they were too busying pacing about, facing the other way to have noticed them. Rick was unlikely to, as he was distracted by his son's disappearance. Eugene, up until he noticed the biters approaching had busied himself behind his large backpack, pretending to be unaware of the situation.

They drew closer and closer every second he wasted thinking about the stupid boy. Dumb, very dumb of him to walk off, there was no denying, and now his disappearance had put him in danger. He had to think quickly in order to save himself.

"What are we waiting for?" Eugene asked, tactfully.

Disgusted at the mere thought of him speaking, Sasha reluctantly replied. "Carl, who did you think?"

"Oh!" Eugene nodded. "He went that way-" he pointed in the opposite direction of the walkers. "Towards the other end of the village. He told me that he told you guys…" False. Carl was still back in the direction of the biters, but at this crucial moment Eugene was not foolish enough to point them. Instead, he was going to give the others a false trail. He'd lied before, who's to say he couldn't do it again? "He said he'd finished in that house and wanted more independence to find more stuff down there. He was pretty confident he'd told you. I tried to stop him, but he was not having any of it!" Eugene said angrily.

"HE DIDN'T TELL ME A DAMN THING!" Rick threw his back down on the floor and threw a tin ferociously at the wall.

"Rick," Michonne tried. Rick's fury was uninterrupted. "RICK!"

Breathing heavily, he turned around holding on the wall for support. "We search for him,"

"…Rick-"

"No! We search for him! Today and tomorrow, we will search. He's my son, Michonne."

She wandered over and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulders. "Of course. It's getting dark though, so we need to find somewhere to go for the night. There's a place about twenty minutes in Carl's direction that I saw on the way here."

"Yeah," Sasha added. "We'll go there and search a bit together on the way. We'll sleep there, if it's safe, for the night, and then search tomorrow. If we don't find him by then, we get back to the group."

Michonne swung he bag over her shoulder and signalled for everybody to walk onwards. "Rick, I have faith in Carl. And I know you do too. We'll find him…we'll try at the very least."

The reality was too much to even react to for Rick. Was every member of his family going to die before him? _No. He's not dead yet. He's Carl. He can make stupid decisions sometimes, but he's _my _son, so he's bound to know a thing or two about survival. He'll take care of himself for now. _Tightly, he nodded in agreement. Accepting the disappearance of his son was not going to come easy though. Disappointed in his son, he picked up his goods and straggled behind the group staring at the ground with glassy eyes.

* * *

Eileen became distracted by the lack of light very quickly so she rectified the issue of the dimly lit household by removing a wind-up torch she'd found several weeks back. Carl was confused about what to do next. He was supposed to have returned to his group by now, about twenty minutes up the road, but it was dangerous to leave when it got too dark. He supposed that it would be easier to slip out of the household at the earliest he could manage to make it back before things got too eerie.

Besides this, he also felt that the girl was definitely more muscular than he was, and at the same time he could almost feel desperation for shelter radiating off of her. Of course, he recognised her to be what he considered to be a strong, independent female, but there was something fragile about her. He knew that she deserved the house, and decided he should part ways.

"Well," he began, awkwardly. "It was nice to meet you. I have to get back to my group,"

She nodded. "Okay," As she saw him make for the door frame, she finally noticed what was in the room and why he was so fascinated with it- it was filled with nerdy merchandise. "Thanks, by the way,"

"For what?"

"Not killing me- I mean...err...I'd have probably got you first but...no hard feelings?"

He coughed to cover up a vague smile. "No," He descended the staircase, thankful to get out of her company. It wasn't that he disliked her. He just knew that he shouldn't get too close to people his age- adults were much more sensible. Looking at her, made him relive memories of Patrick, Beth and...Sophia. Plus, he didn't feel he deserved friends, or opportunities for making them, as he had always felt like a bad person for the things he has done deep inside.

_Why is he leaving? _Eileen questioned herself. _What did you do wrong? It was that last line, wasn't it? You didn't have to say that, you moron. Oh god...what if he's actually going to go tell his group about me? I could be in loads of danger right now. I need to stop him. Besides, maybe his company could grow on me- if he talks a bit more. He seems like the I-keep-to-myself type. I would prefer it though if we didn't get on too well. _

"Hey!" She shouted, running down the stairs pathetically chasing after Carl. "Hey wait!" He wasn't stopping. She was not going to let him get away without being fully certain about whether he was trustworthy or not. "Get back here or I...I shoot," Her gun was shakily raised in an instant and he pivoted round from almost reaching the front door to see her standing on the foot of the stairs trying with a lot of might to scare him. In response, he pulled out his gun and did likewise.

"Do we have to do this again?" Carl was exhausted. He had spent hours looting around several houses on his dad's command, and hadn't eaten for hours. His thirst levels were also about to reach an all time low if he didn't get back to the others very shortly.

She thought about it. "Yes."

"Why?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Duh. You don't trust me. But I haven't killed you, or taken your supplies, or threatened you. So why bother?"

She put her gun down and grabbed a half-filled bottle of water from her supplies bag. Eileen handed over rather forcefully. "Trust is valuable...Carl. It needs to be placed with caution. And you seem skilled...so naturally I have to be sure you won't rat me out-"

"About what? You're just doing what you need to in order to survive!"

"I know! Just take the water, you look thirsty."

He was no completely puzzled. "So can I leave or not?"

"Sure." She smiled and wandered into the living area where she settled herself on the couch and pulled out a disheveled copy of The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde.

_What is she? First I am untrustworthy and now she couldn't give a monkeys left, saggy-_

"You can go now. I would like to read in peace."

Stunned, he opened the front door to see a group of walkers stalking about. _They'll be easy to handle. I'll get rid of them all and then get back to the others. _As the hinges creaked he noted that it was now almost pitch black. Perhaps it would be a lot more difficult than he thought. _Wait- she doesn't care if I go out there? She must have known they were there! Oh, she is too sneaky. She wants me dead, really. Fine, if she wants to play it that way, then she can. I will go out there, stab them all, come back for her loot and leg it back to Dad and the rest. It's what she gets for playing sneaky. _Carl smirked a triumphant smirk, "Bye!" he called cheerfully and headed out, slamming the door behind himself to make a statement.

"I didn't think the moron would actually go out there!" Eileen cried, grabbing her weapons, checking her pockets and sprinted out after him. _He is making it especially difficult to like him...thank God..._


	3. Pocket Candles

**Author's Note:**

**Warnings: This chapter contains strong, typical Walking Dead violence. **

**Thank you for taking the time to read my story. **

* * *

Carl was admittedly rather gleeful to have walked out on Eileen like that: he'd never be able to talk back or be this way to the adults, but with her he was at the same level and therefore at perfect liberty to be as sarcastic as he wanted to. Even so, he was determined to get back to his dad who he expected would be waiting still, in the darkness for his return. Knife if his left hand, and gun in his right, he crept down past the house gates and carried on in between the trees of the long, winding neighborhood road. The trees were the best disguises he could get if he wanted to get back in short time.

He noticed that the walkers were mostly quite far ahead at this stage, though there were several stragglers keeping up the same pace as Carl, unbeknownst to his presence. Carl's breathing became noticeably more rapid, yet he remained calm. _There were more then I planned there would be ahead, but I can take these few._

The suddenly biting air made his fingertips numb, and increased the difficulty of holding his weaponry. Periodically he wiped his running nose with his sleeves. He missed luxuries like coats: the reality was that it was barely ever cold around there and they were far too heavy to just carry when unneeded, but right in that moment his goose bumps were indicating that his parading about late on a November night was perhaps not a good idea and maybe his defiance of the girl he had briefly encountered was slightly misplaced. _Well, I can't go back. It'd be weird: I can tell we would struggle to enjoy each other's company and plus, if I don't return she won't be bothered as she'll finally have to peace to read in. _

It didn't take long for Carl to spot a different passage to where his scavenging group were- he could travel through the field behind of all the houses. At least then, he would be further from the stragglers and could focus on manning the gun with both shivering hands, rather than both weapons being nearly dropped every few moments. He quickly made it into a quiet sprint and carried on in his direction. _If I remember right, I think Dad and Michonne said the meeting point was about five to ten minutes from here. _Throughout his journey, he took some glances between the houses only to see glimpses of the throng of moaning beasts lusting for flesh like his own. The most disgusting part was that he could smell the rotting guts of them from where he now jogged at a fair distance away.

* * *

Eileen instinctively took the same trail through the trees at a much faster rate. She had two guns, one in each hand in preparation for firing. She was fairly certain that she had gone further than the stragglers. She also took the same route by the field. Carl was nowhere to be seen so she was beginning to wonder if maybe she'd ditched the perfect shelter to become bait for the dead in search of a scrawny moron who, by her knowledge, makes stupid decisions. _I don't even like the guy that much. It was just bizarre seeing someone like myself for once. This sucks, I'm just like him: I made a dumb choice and I want to go back. I can't though- the stragglers will see me if I turn back. For God's sake, two years spent alone and I'm going to get eaten trying to save a guy I never knew before, and who for the ten or so minutes I spent speaking to him, I argued with. _

The field was a rich beige colour, the grass all shriveled by the intense sunlight before hand, most probably frozen now by the chill that fell that night. Eileen, when she had first gone about things alone, had smashed her glasses when trying to escape two of the zombies. And as it was dark, it was hard to see anything so it made things more difficult.

As she built up speed she thought it appropriate to look behind her, finding that he hunch was correct- there was indeed one zombie on her trail. _Yep. Nothing's ever that perfect, these days. Should I kill it or keep running? It's a long way away, and a gunshot would attract more. Of course, I have the knife but running back would be stupid if there's only one-_

She turned her head to find another a meter away emerging from the gap between the houses. Thinking of nothing else, she swung one gun at its forehead, only denting it slightly, giving her more time to swap her gun for the knife. At which point it had toppled over, grabbing her foot and dragging her down with it. She kicked off her shoe and launched forward, ripping through its skull with her blade. The zombie landed limb, her boot locked inside its jaw. However, the rapid launching forward had made her back sore: she whimpered in agony hoping desperately that she could find a way to get up as she began to make out a dangerously close zombie figure: the one that was following her trail. Too quickly, it was standing over her crippled form.

Out of nothing more then pure fear and sudden aggression she threw herself at the zombie, pinning it down. It was gnashing hungrily her, turning itself on its side, while she readied her knife, freeing his body slightly. In seconds the skeletal form's eyes were now just bloodied holes in the skull and she crawled back up, rubbing her back.

Eileen was breathlessly huffing, searching around her to see if any others had also taken a fancy to follow in these zombie's footsteps. A long distance away a small hoard were making their way down the field.

_I have to get my boot before I go- uneven feet will cause me trip or something foolish. _Eileen cut through the zombie's jaw, and rushed on the bloodstained boot before limping gracelessly down the field. _I need to get some speed if I want any chance of finding him at all. I CAN'T BELIEVE I AM ACTUALLY RISKING MY LIFE FOR THAT PRAT. WHAT ON EARTH POSSESSED ME TO DO THIS?_

* * *

It was too late, the meeting point was void of any members of Carl's group and the darkness was causing him to aim his gun poorly, so his bullets- slowly running out- were only skimming their skulls. There were a few abandoned shop-like buildings behind him: the one with the plain, green door looked easy enough to break down quickly. He tried a few more bullets, this time actually killing some of the walkers. Carl's persistent shooting did not faze the rest. They were closing in on him too quickly. He decided that it would be better to work on getting into one of the buildings. At this point, they were far enough for him to try a couple, in the hopes that he did it quickly.

Naturally, he tried the green one first, jamming his knife between the locks slamming him into the door to push it open. Between each try, he would turn around and aim at the walkers, often only getting one if his shot was good.

The green door was almost impossible to get open, so he tried the next one, which was decidedly nearer to the walkers than he would have liked. This time, the door began to wobble around demonstrating that Carl's persistent slamming might actually work. _C'mon! Open you dumb door, damn it!_ He heard he locks crack and the inside wood snap.

Before he could triumphantly scurry inside he turned back to see one standing in front of him on the porch. He struggled to extract the knife from the broken wood, but eventually he did so and slaughtered the walker's brain in half. There were more of its friends behind it. Carl tried to fend as many off as possible to get time to tie the door up; his gun ammo was running out.

He tried reaching into his pocket for more ammo. Carl, with his hands shaking from the cold still, he dropped it. It would be a great disadvantage to bend down and grab it so he resorted to pushing them, and stabbing them with the might of a starving squirrel. He was experiencing extreme exhaustion from running, and lack of hydration and his efforts in unlocking the door had left him bruised and aching. Stressed teardrops fell from his eyes and his chapped lips bled and his numb fingers fought the relentless. _Where's Dad anyway? He must of belted off with the others…he's probably waiting in the bushes for me. How the hell am I supposed to survive this? I hate this. _

Then, after finally pushing one walker into the others, creating a long-drawn out domino effect, he saw the girl from the house earlier standing not far away shooting from both hands and kicking out every so often. Carl didn't know whether to be more confused about her coming after him, or be grateful for her assistance- if it could be called that yet. So far, she was only defending herself.

"Carl," she shouted. Immediately after she ran over to him, tipping over corpses occasionally shooting.

"You fend them off, I need to get the rope out to fix the door!" He shouted back, his voice breaking.

"M'kay," was the muffled reply before he scrambled about with this belongings searching for the rope he needed. He looked out of the door to see her on the porch, bent over and limping, crying out in agony, and with great effort, shooting and destroying as many of the walkers as she could. _She's not bad at this_.

"C'mon, I got it!" He called her in, stepping outside to nail a couple more right in their foreheads. She obeyed, rushing in and grabbing the display cabinet from inside the hallway and moving it to aid shutting the door. Carl eventually tied the knot and helped her drag the cabinet towards the door.

All that could be heard was the beating on the door and walls from the outside, with the starved groans of the dead mixed in.

Eileen landed on the floor trying to catch her breath for a moment. Carl too, bent over holding his bag between his legs. Both of their clothes were covered in fresh blood, a foul stench.

"Nice one opening the door," she spluttered.

"I had to do something, didn't I?" Carl returned the gesture. "Nice one two-gunning the walkers,"

"Yeah. It was nothing," she waved her hand.

Carl scoffed. "Well it looked like something,"

"I suppose…s…suppose it might've looked that way,"

Carl helped her up. "What's wrong with your back?"

Eileen froze, thinking of the close encounter not long along. "Nothing," she explained. "I just ran a lot, that's all. I've had it before, it'll wear off."

"Hmm." As much as his previous decision did not support this, Carl wasn't a complete idiot. It was obvious that she didn't just get a backache and other injuries from just running. _If she doesn't want to say, I don't care._ "Why'd you come after me?"

"No idea. I just did. Why'd you assume I'd accept your help just then?"

"You came all this way from the house…I just did, I guess."

"A lot of questions, a lack of answers."

Carl nodded his head. "Yep."

"We aren't going to be able to leave anytime soon, so we'll have to clear it out and sleep here for now."

He nodded in agreement before reality dawned. "We can barely see anything. I don't know if that's even a door or a picture frame,"

"Luckily for you," Eileen unbuttoned her trouser pocket to reveal a pack of matches and a couple of pocket candles. "I've got these. It's not much, but it's something."

"Yeah. Light 'em up." She did so and they scoured the room looking down the different empty hallways. "Right, I'll take this room and that room here on the right,"

"Fine," she sighed. "I'll take left."

"Scream if you need help,"

"I won't be needing your help, Carl. I'm fine on my own." Without a look back at Carl she kicked the door open, using a pocket candle to light her way into a small room. From what she could make of the room, it appeared to be an office.

Papers were strewn everywhere, blood spattered and torn. The desk was chipped at the side and dented all over with more blood dribbled in the very center. The computer screen was cracked and the computer chair was leaking it's inner cushioning across the floor; it was yellow and smelt of dampness from the slightly cracked open window. The blinds were shut luckily, though she went over and slammed the rest of the window closed to be sure. A cupboard stood with bloodied hand print trailing about the handle.

Fear. Countless theories and speculations of what could have happened crowded her mind in a mist of fear. Yet she couldn't leave the cupboard unexplored: if someone had been attacked, then maybe they couldn't stay there. Or perhaps a zombie got in, or a zombie is in there, or _someone_ is in there.

Carefully, she placed the candle on the desk, and grasped about for her knife, and a gun. She wandered in front of the cupboard, thought against the wall to make room for whatever was in there.

Eileen leaned forward. Slowly, her gun-hand reached for the handle of the cupboard. It was shaking. Her breathing was the only audible sound nearby; the only other noises were the feint ruffling of Carl searching the other rooms and the sound of zombies crashing against the walls in the entrance hall).

_Don't hesitate. You've done this kind of thing before. You should be fine. _Self-encouragement was apparently not helping and as she was inches away from touching the handle a loud crash was heard. _Was it him?_

"Carl?" No answer. "Carl!" Eileen got ready for defense.

A coughing noise alerted her that he was fine. "I just knocked something over. I'm fine."

"Be more careful, we don't know who or what is in here."

"You don't think I know that?"

She patronizingly responded from across the hallway. "I'm just reminding you. I thought it'd be useful information."

"Yeah well you're not the only kid who can kill walkers. I know what I am doing,"

"Whatever,"

She resumed what she had been previously planning to do. Without a moments thought, she swung the door open to find nothing but stacks of paper. And something else smeared across the wall.

'**My shift ended early. So will yours.'**

_Gross. I guess blood makes a better writing medium than Bic nowadays. _

Alas, this room had nothing in it of use and so Eileen went into the next room.

* * *

Meanwhile, Carl got himself up from the floor and shoved off the pieces of broken vase from his stomach. The room he was in was not large in width but huge in length. It was effectively a hallway within a hallway, decorated with pictures and notices. There were at least a dozen scratchy looking chairs with magazines placed neatly on a coffee table. It reeked of stale milk rising to the top of the old cups of tea and coffee which were also stood on the table. In the corner was a little box of children toys. It was like a waiting room.

"There's got to be drink sources here then. They're old, but they look fresh as anything right now," he whispered to himself, mentally notating his findings.

As he lifted the candle up, the beam emitted from the tiny ember was intercepted by a fly. Then another. Then another. Leading Carl to discover a rotting carcass limp across three chairs. _It's not alive anymore. It would have jumped at my appearance if it were. _Just to ensure his safety, he slipped the knife through the skull and carried on into the next room.

_Bingo. It's a dentist practise. _Inside, was a long chair with a smashed light hanging over it and an abundance of dentistry instruments along the sides and on the floor, smeared with blood. _Is everything just blood these days? Is nothing clean? _Carl picked up a couple of the bits to examine them. If he was honest, it was a rather resourceful use of available equipment, and he hoped sorely that whoever used it got out alive.

"Anything?" Carl shouted back to Eileen who was exploring a similar room on the other side.

She ran out with a handful of dentistry books. "All clear."

"Yeah, of books. What about walkers?"

She appeared insulted for a moment. "None of them either."

"Good. We can sleep here tonight. Then I'm searching for my dad tomorrow,"

She agreed. "Okay. I'll take first watch. You sleep for a bit. I'll wake you up in a few hours. Carl?"

"Yeah?"

_If you want, Carl, I'll help you find your dad.__ No, don't say that. It's weird. _"Um...Don't worry." _How did I even get into this mess? I could have just left him to his own devices. But no, now we're sleeping in the same building. I don't even know his surname, and for all I know, when I fall asleep he might kill me. Actually, scrap that, he would have done it already if he wanted to. I don't know if I'm completely comfortable with this...I suppose I haven't really got much else to live for anyway. _

Carl rested against the corner of the entrance hall while Eileen pulled her arms into her jumper for warmth and began to read through the books she found.


	4. The Quicker We Start

The two pocket candles were unhelpful. Eileen sat for what could have been hours squinting at the dentistry books in front of her. Overall they were tedious. Naturally, the science was fascinating, but after a while the pictures were repetitive, and she almost dosed off reading about the history of dentistry. At points, graphic pictures came up, but too tired to react, her face remained stony and her eyes fluttered sleepily.

She had not had to keep watch for two years, she approximated. Not since she bolted back then. The bit that always worried her was that leaving her family was not even a tough decision. She was worried that it meant she was insane but the reality was that it was the best choice she could make for herself. And she was blessed to have made it this long. She wasn't a heroine. She wasn't always brave. Eileen just taught herself as many skills as possible from reading and from memory. She was a developing survivor, not a born one. And the loneliness that followed her departure was not bad either. She was very much satisfied to be left in peace.

Now, she was stuck in a dentist's with some sixteen year-old, pathetically dim-witted, yet remarkably brave boy whom she was wholly unaware of. And despite such, she had it in her to risk her life without though in order to save him. The truth is, the niceness of her actions was fairly normal. The most peculiar thing was that she was certain she most probably didn't like Carl. She knew that she would have to have more than have a five minute disagreement with him in order to determine the status of their acquaintanceship. So why would she go after him?

Eileen was fine on her own before, so it wasn't out of want for company. She didn't hold romantic feelings for him and couldn't ever imagine doing so. There was no way she would need help: she simply refused to need help. Her efforts were fine as it was, and to get help, especially from a lunatic such as him, would be out of the question and unnecessary. There was nothing Carl had that she needed or wanted: even so, she would not have engaged in anything to try and get it. She supposed, that their similarity of age created an unspoken companionship, or pact. Eileen empathized with him just for being the same age so it was natural to try and save him as in the normal world, there could have been an opportunity for friendship. She suspected that she was trying to salvage companionship that wasn't even there. It aggravated her. Furthermore, she also presumed that if this was the case, it explained why Carl tried to save her as well, so the feeling must have been mutual.

These musings were the result of boredom following her giving-up on the books. She sat facing the wall in the opposite corner of the room to Carl, lazily throwing her knife at it. It wasn't a risky action; the moans of zombies died down ages ago. The ringing sound of the impact, a cartoon like noise, sounded every time the knife hit the wall. She would then rip the knife out, and throw it again. Her excellent aim came from much practice. With no one to converse with, she had plenty of time to do so. Now she had Carl, a regretful decision to have made but she held out hope for it eventually being a good choice. She could tolerate one person, couldn't she?

The metallic noise of the knife made Carl stir. Eileen, blissfully unaware she had woken him, carried on her eyes dropping closed every now and again.

Carl was livid. Did she forget he was here? Or did she just delight in waking him up to the sounds of a knife causing him panic? _I was enjoying that sleep. She doesn't even know or care! It's about time she woke me up to switch watches anyway._

He groggily said to her: "Thanks for waking me up like that. It's really reassuring."

She continued to throw the knife. "I didn't try to wake you up. You can sleep longer for all I care."

"How do you expect me to sleep while you do that?"

"I don't expect you to. You make that choice." She rethought her words. "I'm sorry I woke you. I'll stop-"

"-Nah, it's fine. I gotta take a watch at some point."

After that, they switched roles. Eileen had fallen asleep in a twisted position, face up on the floor. Carl noticed with extreme curiosity before passing it off as a quirk.

He occupied his few hours uneventfully. It mostly consisted of sitting there concerned about his dad. He was nervous about setting off to find him in the morning. He had no doubt that he had was looking for him. He also knew that he would be with Michonne, Sasha and...Eugene, so he would have help and will have taken shelter or something. He'd try again though. He knew it. He hoped it.

The relationship paradigm between Carl and his dad was interesting. Through his youngest years, he had been a role model. A fantastically heroic sheriff who saved lives and had guns and weapons. He was caring and mindful of others. Rick was still like that: it had just gotten slightly more dangerous and real. It had all been romanticized until the apocalypse.

After a decade of living, a new figure in Carl's life was made more prominent. That man was Shane. And for a while he was the embodiment of coolness to him. Shane, his dad's bad-ass sheriff buddy who Carl began to see more and more often. Shane easily met the role of a slightly rebellious, entertaining uncle, despite there being no blood relation. Unlike his father, Shane was more relaxed about things and encouraged some healthy misbehavior. Dinner with Shane was always good and well looked forward to by Carl.

When the epidemic hit there was some role reversal that occurred. Carl was blind at his young age. He was foolish. He was naive about the love affair his mother had engaged in with Shane when his father was all for dead as far as he knew. He felt a little sickened at the thought of his mother cold-heartedly moving on so quickly. Of course, at the time he didn't know. At the time, Shane a permanent addition to his original Atlanta group, was merely a close family friend who ensured Carl was prepared and encouraged him to be brave in this fought time. And after a while, Carl began to change his mind about it all.

His father, Rick, was no longer as interesting as he thought. Shane was much better. Rick constantly put himself at risk. Lori was his beautiful mother, abandoned by her husband a large amount of the time. Carl had the nerve to feel sorry for his mother. At the time, her disapproval of his having a gun had angered him, but he grew accustomed to what she said, until he was finally permitted one.

Shane, in his young eyes, was a daring, and courageous person. In time though, the madness within him was reflected and finally announced itself when he tried to murder Rick out of spite and jealousy regarding Lori. Once again, his father's undying loyalty to his family prevailed and he resumed his role as the father figure that had temporarily wavered.

Carl clung to the idea that Rick was loyal. He WOULD be searching for him. He just had to be patient. Sadly, there was a little part of him that knew Rick made sacrifices in order to protect his group. So maybe he had all but decided against searching for him to save resources and time. The former hope was a more preferable thought to Carl.

The baby was news to Carl. He hadn't even had the privilege of finding out in the beginning. No- Carl Grimes, future brother of said child found out by _accident_. He didn't doubt that his mother would tell him, but he did worry that perhaps if Shane had said nothing he wouldn't have been notified until a bump appeared. Then, Carl was oblivious to how this could even happen and then was concerned with being a good brother. When he looks at his sister now, he can't help but consider that it may not even be completely his sister. Maybe she shares DNA with Shane- a monster.

Shane had taught Carl many things, but he could never forgive him for his poor contributions and involvement in the protection of his family.

The only question left to be answered now was whether he wished to keep Eileen with him. She was a grouchy, proud and decidedly shady person. Arguably however, she had kind intentions. She offered him water. She didn't kill him, and she came after him. Besides these gestures, she was a bit inconsiderate when she spoke. Carl supposed this was a mechanism of self-protection she'd developed for living out in this world.

_Do I like her? Not completely. She's not very friendly. The water was great and she came to find me, but she could be nicer in words. I have to find my Dad tomorrow. Maybe she'll try helping. I think it would be best to leave her. She doesn't seem like someone who is interested in someone else's problems. She hasn't got the time. Funnily enough though, she didn't have a group so surely she would be willingly to join me? She might be frustrating to spend a lot of time with. She reads; so she's probably smart as suspected. Maybe she has more great qualities that are yet to be discovered. Hm. I don't know. I'll have to improvise in the morning._

* * *

Michonne's Narrative

We spent the night sleeping out in a corner shop in Carl's direction. It was no wonder he would have chosen to go this way as the shop was filled to the brim with dry goods and tins. There was even a water vending machine. It was miraculous to say the least. I began to grow suspicious of Carl's activity when we all had to unlock the door, but ignored this peculiar feature.

I took the second watch, after Sasha.

Rick was furious. He had been since we set off in this direction. He said nothing, but it was in his eyes. Though his fury was not directed at his son, but rather himself. He refused to eat anything we'd found, and hid away in the shaded aisle of the shop, grunting and whimpering. Hours before, when we had commenced a casual search for the boy, Rick had been shouting for him to come out from hiding, yet there was nothing. And then, a giant heard of walkers came distracting us all together. We kept in a small house until they passed and then made our way to the corner shop.

"Rick," I tried. "Rick listen, you need to eat." He said nothing, but stared blankly at the bag of chips I tried to offer him. "You cannot beat yourself up about this. This is not your fault. You're blinded by fear. If you trust your son, you would snap out of this. Don't starve yourself. It's just sad."

Any efforts to to comfort him, or bring him out of this daze were in vain, and so after relentlessly trying to make jokes and lighten the mood, I gave up and surveyed the shop in immense detail.

The shelves were full. Hm. If Carl came back in this direction, the store would have been unlocked. The shelves would be somewhat empty and there would probably be traces of muddy footprints across the floor. And if Carl came in this direction, he would have most certainly explored this shop. So why were there no signs he had done? He wasn't ignorant: he was loyal to the group and would be doing his best to gather what he could.

I tried not to conclude that Carl was dead yet. Yes, there was a massive heard of walkers that evening. And no, we had not found Carl yet. But that was not to say that he hadn't thought like us and gotten shelter. He had weapons. And ammunition. I was not going to write him off too soon.

Then I felt my own fury establish itself. An inescapable idea implanted itself within my brain- and you can't undo an idea once it is fed and is given time to grow. Eugene. Since he had lied about Washington two years ago, the group had seen him as the odd-one out. It was out of generosity and pity that Rick allowed him to stay with us. If the decision were mine, and I did have a say, he would have been sent on his way. Alas, we kept him a pet for God knows what reason and know he was around taking portions of our rations and water. We were not the kindest to him. And he was a coward. So anything he did say to us, or did with us, was suspicious.

Did Carl actually come in this direction?

Eugene better hope he did. Until I can confirm my suspicions on his lying, I will keep my mouth shut and study him from afar. His telling of Carl's whereabouts had a strong sense of legitimacy, there was no denying this. And given the contents of the neighborhood he had supposedly explored, it was definitely seem like a place Carl would try and gets his hands on. On the other hand, there was no signs of Carl having been there. And Eugene got away with something before. I knew I would have to try and tell Rick fairly soon. I care for the boy, and I care for his father too, and I would not want to be responsible for prolonging Carl's disappearance. I would just have to wait. Only time would tell me the answer and what to do.

* * *

Having lounged around for four or five hours, reading wall posters and assessing his life, Carl knew he wanted to get a move on to search for his dad.

He stood up from his corner of the room and grabbed the nearby pocket candle making his way to the door, manning his gun with his other hand. When he got there, he put the candle on the table next to him, and tried to move the cabinet that held the door closed. It was a pathetic struggle. Having very little muscle build up meant slightly disadvantages like this. At the same time, he was trying not to wake Eileen up just yet. He did really consider whether he should ask for her help finding his dad and he eventually realized that all the time he had spent alone before for far too long, got him in trouble, and the years had taught him that he should always have backup.

The rattling of the cabinets contents was enough to wake Eileen up with a start. She sat up at break-neck speed from her spot and jumped into a defensive stance. She then realized it was Carl.

"What are doing? You moron!"

"Moving the cabinet!"

She became very irritated. "Oh so you just planned to leave, huh? And what about when you got out? What about putting the cabinet back to stop the zombies getting in while I slept, huh? You were just planning to leave me here?"

"No," he inhaled. "I was actually trying to move it so you didn't hurt your back and so we could get an early start."

"Never mind my back!" she snapped. "It's fine...perfectly fine. I would have had no trouble moving it! And...start?" she was confused. "Start to what?"

"I was wondering whether you could help me."

"How so?"

He paused to think about the phrasing of his request. It was a rather large favor and he didn't want to come across as needy. "I need to find my Dad. He was supposed to wait for me outside. We split up to loot some houses. I went down where I met you, Eugene- he's in our group- was taken with Sasha to inspect something close to here, and my Dad and our friend Michonne went somewhere through the woody bit. We agreed to meet back here. But when I came here, there were walkers and they were gone."

Eileen saw the desperate and worried look that swept across his face. She wasn't going to waste her time on an unworthy cause. "How do you know that they just haven't come back yet?"

"Because _I_ was the late one!"

"Okay...they could have got bitten-"

"NO! No- no they wouldn't. They're not. I know they aren't. They're great survivors like that." Eileen was skeptical and distrusting of this. "Trust me. I know."

"Don't tell me who to trust," she said. "They could've gone in one of the shops next door."

"No. When I tried to get in the green one, I couldn't. They would have gone for that one and succeeded if they were around here somewhere."

"So you're going to improvise and search for a group of people who could be anywhere?"

"Don't think like that! Pessimism won't get us anywhere-"

"Who said I was trying to get somewhere?"

He took a sharp breath. "Look. I don't know you well, but I know that we helped each other. So please, _please_ can you help me once more?"

_Should I help him? This is most probably going to be a waste of precious time. And to dedicate this time to an idiot? Still, I wouldn't want to die knowing that this world made me a harsh, uncaring person. I could try and help. My family weren't the best, and I left them, but this guy apparently gets on with his so I am not going to let my selfishness destroy their relationship. It might do me some good to be with someone who was a little braver than myself, anyway._

"...Fine. "Carl smiled at her response. She was looking away stiffly. "Not because I want to help you though...because I have nothing to do..."

He grinned. "Sure, whatever."

"So. You wanna leave now or something? You seemed pretty desperate to leave."

He nodded. "Yeah. If we head out now we'll have more time. Plus, it'll most probably get lighter soon."

"Carl," she started. "It's November. It's probably pitch-black still."

"Doesn't matter. The quicker we start, quicker I find my Dad."

"And where exactly are we going to look? He could be round here like you said, or in the direction those walkers were going, or maybe he went in the direction of the place we were in. It's your dad, so it's your call."

"Definitely in the direction of that house." He said confidently, gesturing for help in moving the cabinet. "I know my Dad. He might've waited out for the walkers to go and then gathered our looting group to find me. He's a good dad. He's probably out there."

"We need to go back to the old house first." Eileen said hurriedly.

"Why?"

"My things...I left them there when I came after this moron in a Sheriff's hat," she smirked a little.

"Well won't you just have to regather things eventually anyway? It's a waste of time, we'll find other bits of wire and things on the way-"

"It's personal, Carl, but I _need _to get my bag. It has items in it that _I _need. I've had them this whole time and I'm not going to lose them now."

Reluctant to say yes, Carl was unsure as he shove the cabinet to the side and began to cut open the knot with his knife. "Eileen-"

"I hadn't even finished looting the place yet, I'm sure there's tonnes of things we could use. I'm helping you so you could at least let me get my things." She was frustrated.

"Alright, alright. Fine. We'll go back there, get everything of yours and make a start."

With that, he swung open the door, brandishing his knife with his gun in his pocket. Eileen ran about quickly blowing out the pocket candles and carrying them with one hand, while holding her knife with the other. The wax was violently hot still, so she carefully stepped out into the eerily quiet parade of old shops and began the journey back to the old house with Carl.


	5. They'll Be Back

**Warning: Mild violence (typical walker slaying violence)**

**Enjoy :)**

* * *

It did not take long for Eileen's candles to cool, at which point she slid them back into her trouser pocket with her matches and re-filled her hand with another weapon. She and Carl took the route across the field again.

They walked half the journey back in silence, both of them looking around at the sparsely scattered walkers corpses awkwardly to occupy themselves. The air was much warmer at that early hour, so the grass was no longer crispy with frost.

"...So have you got a favorite colour?" Carl laughed.

She returned his question with look of derision. This made him chuckle again, only with slight less enthusiasm.

"Wha-what?" he said. "What's wrong with that? It's just a question. I'm just trying to get to know you better!"

"What has colour got to do with getting to know me?"

"It's just basic information-"

Eileen snorted. "Ha! That's useless information." She paused to step over the zombie she had stopped the day before. She shook her head at the corpse. To which Carl gave a questioning look. She ignored him. "If you want to get to know me, you have to ask better questions. Like about my family, or my life at school, or during _this_," she added bitterly.

"Fine," he said. "What was your family like?"

"I'm not just going to tell you."

"But you just said-"

"I KNOW WHAT I SAID!" she snapped. "Sorry...do you always insist on talking?" A light smirk appeared.

"My apologies. I was just taking interest in your life. How could I be so selfish?"

"Well don't. You don't get to know that kind of thing straight away!" she had turned in his direction to speak this, unaware that a lone walker was creeping up behind her. Carl pushed her away and shoved his knife into it's skull. She groaned in pain as a feint cracking of her bones sounded as she impacted onto the floor. Her face was stained with shock.

As Carl held out his hand to pick her up with an apologetic smile, she pushed his arm away and got herself up. "...did I hurt you?"

She mumbled: "...not much. I'm fine." Eileen then speed-walked ahead of him. She stopped and took a deep, calming breath. "...Green. Shame there's not enough of it these days..." She continued onward, Carl looking after her in amusement.

* * *

Carol tended to the half a deer that was being cooked.

The group had scarcely eaten in days and with Judith being a growing toddler, food was of dire need. Thankfully, Daryl had been more concentrated on his hunting as of recently and had captured this beauty in the early hours of that morning. He received an excellent reception, and was appreciative of the gratitude, before gruffly nodding and heading back out into the woods in search of more game. Carol had insisted that he take a rest, having arrived back with a look of gaunt exhaustion in his face, but his refusal to stay could not be shook.

However, there were more pressing matters on Carol's mind as she delighted in her role as camp chef: the group who went for a supply run hadn't returned since they left. It was not unusual for those on the runs to not return for hours on end, but they were not at that large a distance away and they hadn't shown any signs of coming back during the night either.

She'd supposed that they had been caught up. That they would arrive back soon with everyone in one piece, and a whole bunch of useful items. Carl would be able to see his sister who had learnt a few new words in their absence. The group's morale was kept high by Judith's endearing presence. When they arrived back shortly, she could hand them some roasted deer and a couple of stale biscuits each that they'd been keeping for a while. That morning wouldn't necessarily be a banquet, she knew that much, but it was definitely going to satisfy the hunger of the group. In turn, everyone's mood would be better so co-operation would be vastly improved.

"Carol," Tyreese coughed from behind. "That's a nice bit of meat you got there,"

"Yeah," she smiled, worriedly. "I am hoping it'll be done in a hour or so."

He smiled too. "Good. I am getting restless. So is Judith. She's been quietly crying for hours now."

"Well, have you tried that old fish toy she likes?"

"Ah! The one we got a while back?" Carol nodded. "Yeah. Isn't doing anything. Poor girl is starving!"

"I'm doing my best, Ty," Carol sighed.

"I know you are," he placed a warming hand on her shoulder.

A rapid rustling from behind them made the two of them brandish their knives. It was only Noah and Glenn.

"Guys...are they back yet?"

Carol sadly shook her head, and began to prod the deer shifted above the embers. The whole group exchanged looks of uncertainty.

"I'm sure Rick's fine!" Glenn said. "And Michonne, Sasha, Eugene. And Carl! They'll be back."

"Yeah!" Noah laughed. "And they'll love a piece of that!"

Since the hospital, Noah had become an excellent member of the group. When he was first inducted, things were difficult between Carol, Daryl and him, purely because of his own efforts as lone survival, but they agreed to let bygones be bygones and eventually he became a speedy and cunning member of the group. Not to mention his sense of humor and extraordinarily likable, natural charm. He was sweet, and soon befriended Glenn because of their similar survival techniques. The two eventually became a great team.

Noah was equally saddened by Beth's passing and shared tales of how brave and intelligent she was to them over the past two years by the campfires. He could never make it up to her for helping him escape the confinement of Dawn's ruling. And he found that she was rather cute. But any chances at romance had been thwarted by Dawn's mental instability. Now, he was happy that knowing her brought him to further happiness with a hard-working and skilled new family who kept him as one of their own.

He enjoyed much of the time he spent with Glenn, sometimes drinking if they were lucky to find those luxuries, and often going on supply runs together. If they were safe, they would often find themselves distracted by fun as they challenged each other to small races or contests. Glenn, being considerably older, much suited the role of an older brother which he found refreshing to resume since he lost his many sisters. What was more, was that Noah was interesting to teach. He opted for speed, Glenn's specialty also, and learnt skills rapidly. As much as he enjoyed Maggie's company, it was a new idea to have a partner as close to him as Noah. It was a brotherly relationship, and they both enjoyed the dynamic to its fullest.

Carol laughed. "I am sure you're right, Glenn. Could you check around for some plates for me, sweetie?"

"Sure thing, Carol," Glenn grinned and made his way through the little make-shift camp they had put up. Was Glenn Rhee worried that they wouldn't make it back? Of course he was. He had faith in them, sure, though these times were unpredictable and with people's patience being strained and health being drained, no one conclusion could ever be made. Still, he kept high hopes to encourage others.

As she sent Tyreese and Noah back to the others as well, Carol was warmed to see Tara with Judith balanced on her knee, whose tears were drying as she giggled at the variant of silly faces Tara proceeded to make.

* * *

Michonne awoke from her slumber to find Rick pacing about on watch. Sasha too was stirring, reaching for her fun.

"Mornin'," Michonne mumbled. She helped Sasha up, and they both shared glances at the slob-like form of Eugene snoring incessantly.

Sasha giggled. "God, look at him! Anyway, we need to wake him. All these goods aren't going to carry themselves. We can't do all the work,"

"True," Michonne smirked. "...Look," she pointed over to Rick. He was rubbing his head in fury. "He's not slept properly all night. He's a little delirious. He wouldn't eat. Nor would he drink. So we're going to need to be a bit more attentive today when searching for Carl..." Michonne was still not certain that Carl was around here. She decided against speaking out too soon.

"Agreed."

"And I propose that if we don't find him by this afternoon, we go back to the group and get more help. We'll start a search party going."

"And if we find him?"

"Get back. Duh! I'm craving for that tin of baked beans...or that pack of chips!"

* * *

In no time at all, Carl and Eileen arrived at the house once more, and Carl re-opened the door.

"I'm going to finish up what I was originally planning to do. You can do whatever, I guess." she said, shooting off between all the rooms .

Naturally, Carl ascended the staircase and found the room he had fallen in love with at first sight. It was filled to the brim with action figures, merchandise, comic books. Heavenly.

What was only meant to be a brief visit took almost an hour. Carl hadn't minded of course. He spent his time flipping through beloved comic books, ignoring the racket of Eileen rummaging through the household. He was captivated by an epic duel between a superhero and his villain when Eileen stormed passed with a determined look of concentration. Seconds later she stormed back in the other direction wearing a different set of clothes. She was carrying a new blue woolly jumper and the pants she had been wearing earlier, but had replaced everything else. Her top was a long sleeved, over-sized brown item and her pants were swapped from a pair of leggings she had rolled up to her size. Her shoes were still the same boots, only cleaner.

"Why are you changing clothes?" he asked. "The others were perfectly clean."

"Basic hygiene, moron," she rolled her eyes and stormed back downstairs. He reluctantly threw his comic back onto the soft bed he had been laying on.

"You know you're allowed to call me Carl?"

"I would call you Carl even if I wasn't allowed, if I wanted to. But it so happens that I don't."

"Fine," he gave up. He almost missed a step at the bottom of the staircase, following her over to her bag, where she shoved the new jumper and old pants into it. "What did you mean about basic hygiene?"

"Look, I am not a doctor. So I can't treat infection to expertly. And there are very few water supplies for washing. So I have adopted other techniques to keep my hygiene at a good standard." She explained. "One of these is changing my clothes, so I am not wearing the same sweaty, smelly gear all the time...like you." Eileen grimaced.

Carl sniffed his armpit thoroughly, almost being sick at the outcome. He had grown accustomed to his natural stench in the years he'd had to put up with it. Eileen on the other hand, although somewhat stinky, had the aroma of a flower compared to himself. An impressive feat. "Says you," he retorted. He knew he didn't mean it, but he wasn't going to let her insult him and get away with it.

"Yeah. Says me. And I am saying that you stink. I grabbed you some clothes as well. They're on the bed in the room where I got mine from,"

"You can't tell me what to do, Eileen."

"I am not telling you what to do. I am just saying that I am probably making a good decision and I have done you a favor," she snapped.

Carl nodded. "Well it was nice of you, but I'm comfortable in these clothes. Now get your stuff. I've waited long enough. I need to find my Dad," He looked fractionally irritated, but disguised it well.

_Hell if I'll let this moron tell me what to do! I know how to take care of myself. He keeps trying to be all chummy with me, and I appreciate it, but can't he just back off a little? I suppose the least I could do is save him the energy arguing back to me. He lost his father for Christ's sake. Why couldn't I just be unhelpful? I just don't have it in me, that's why. I'll just let him make the decisions around his Dad. At least then I can't tick him off more than I already clearly have. _She was infuriated by his bossy behavior, but kept quiet and followed suit.

As they were about to step out of the door with all her belongings, Eileen's eyes burned into the back of Carl's head as she looked upon the older boy with guilt. She took a look back up the stairs.

"Hold on, moron-"

"-It's _Carl_."

"Whatever. I just gotta grab one last thing,"

She raced up the stairs and grabbed a handful of the comics Carl had shown an interest in and put the in her bag before he could see.

"Where to, Sheriff?"

"Left." He said. "My Dad probably thought I went further that way or something instead of just staying here."

"If you say so," Eileen threw her bag over her shoulder and tucked her guns in the top for her to reach. She put her knife in it's case and slipped it into her boot.

Carl would be furious if he knew his dad was in fact to the right.

* * *

"Michonne," growled Rick. "HE'S NOT IN HERE." he breathed heavily, trying to calm himself. "We are _done_ in here. Let's move out."

The house they had been checking in was more of a private clinic if anything, and there was no sign of Carl anywhere. Eugene had obtained several medicines from a displaying shelving unit: painkillers, babies cough medicine, a DIY temperature taker, and anti-inflammatory tablets. The gain of these specialties was enough to distract him from the guilt he felt from lying to the three of them. Rick was growing weary of his son's possible death, and this made Eugene feel awful. It was nice to have something as simple as medication to uplift his spirits. He felt not a shred of guilt in that moment.

"Alright, Rick." Called Sasha, rushing out of her designed search area. "C'mon. Let's head into the next building,"

"Guys, I got medicine," panted Eugene, holding onto his chest.

The three of them stared back at him with relief and a flicker of respect. "Nice," said Sasha.

Michonne still eyed him with suspicion.

Rick practically threw the door open and was approached by two walkers, who he mercilessly slaughtered without a second through and charged onto the next doorstep. He jammed a loose piece of wood into the gap and with a few minutes of bashing, it flung open and welcomed him inside. The three others chased after him.

Inside, more walkers had been awoken. Michonne defensively halved them with her katana. Rick hadn't even flinched at their presence and marched in and out of rooms.

"CARL!" he screamed. "CARL! Get out here right now, son!" There was no one.

None of the houses round here had been so much as touched by anyone, much less Carl. And there were times, if Michonne was confident in her peripheral vision, and she was, that Rick's fury made Eugene guilty shudder at times making him more suspicious.

"Eugene," Michonne whispered. "Go check upstairs. If you're endangered, yell. Go scope out some more medication or goods if you can. I'll handle Rick." He obeyed, giving her time to lay down her theory. "Rick, Sasha. I need a word,"

Sasha immediately came to her side. Rick on the other hand was hard to call over in the little time she had before Eugene returned.

"What?" Sasha muttered.

"Rick," Comfortingly, Michonne rubbed Rick's arm. "You need to focus. I have something serious to discuss."

"M'kay," he drawled, beads of sweat dripping.

"Right. Let me get this straight. A while back, Eugene lied about Washington?" The two of them nodded. "Right. And he reckons Carl came in this direction? I think he's pulling somethin' on us. And if we're not quick to stop it, we could never find Carl," Michonne said calmly.

"Are you sure he's lying? I mean, he's been nothing but helpful this whole time. In two years, he hasn't lied once. Or had a reason too..." Sasha tried.

"Ah," she held her finger up in explanation. "That would mean he could get away with lying easier! Remember the corner shop place? It was locked. Carl's not an idiot. If he _was _around here, it would have been the first place he checked out. None of the houses are open. And if I'm not mistaken, Rick's anger is making him nervous," she whispered.

Rick stood back to absorb the information. Michonne was a trustworthy companion. She read Rick and Carl like a book by now, and she was daring and honest. She always made he best decisions. It would only make sense to believe her. Rick was however inclined to believe in Abraham having rehabilitated Eugene from a helpless, lying smart-guy into a fairly average survivor. Though the evidence handed to him just then was irrefutable.

"You think he lied?" Rick checked slowly. Sasha stood back cautiously, expecting what was to come.

"Yes."

Rick Grimes inhaled massively, his muscles tightening, his bones shaking, his head pounding. "THAT'S MY SON! THAT'S MY-my...I'm gonna kill Eugene." he added quietly, yet powerfully. "I'm gonna_ kill_ 'im," Rick spat with utter hatred and launched into a purposeful sprint up the stairs.

* * *

**Thank you to anyone who has taken the time to read, and maybe review :)**


	6. Except One

**Author's note-**

**Warning: this chapter features frequent violence and slight abuse. **

**Thank you for reading.**

**Enjoy :)**

* * *

Eugene was scavenging for medical supplies and equipment when he was disturbed by an upward sprint which he shortly found out was Rick Grimes. He was terrified to see that upon his face was a snarl of definite disgust: he had, in quite literally seconds, transformed into a drooling beast. And despite his usual attempts at pacifism before violence, Rick Grimes was in fact holding his hands out prepared to throttle Eugene. Rick was lusting for his blood, but Eugene could not for the life of him figure out why.

"You!" Rick hissed, wringing his hands around Eugene's neck. Sasha and Michonne came rushing in after him, trying desperately to pull him away.

Air was limited. Eugene was a mess. He tried with might to oxygenate himself. His actions were mixed with his confusion. Everything was all so sudden, and he felt his body growing colder and colder, his hands turning paler and paler.

Soon, everything became muffled and his vision blurred.

"...Riiick..." came the voice of Sasha. "...let...him gooo," Eugene's world was spinning and ending. Yet in his usual cowardly manner, he made no effort to rip Rick's hands from his neck.

"RICK LET HIM GO. YOU'RE NOT A MONSTER. LET HIM LIVE!" Yelled Michonne, her hand resting on her Katana handle on her back, a mild and empty threat. "...at least for now..." The threat did not scare Rick but was enough to convince him to wipe the sweat from his brow and loosen his grip.

Eugene fell to the ground, his belongings scattered generously around his twisted, spluttering form where he had dropped them. Curling himself over and inhaling as much air as he could was all he could do. His neck felt bruised and slightly cut from Rick's elongated finger nails. He was then greeted most unhappily by the booted foot of Mr Grimes, to the stomach, which winded him. His breathing hitched more.

"Stop..." he tried. "p...please...stop..."

Rick grabbed his shirt and pulled Eugene to his feet. Their faces were close. "No," Rick began fiercely. Sasha and Michonne stood cautiously behind Eugene, their grave faces staring right back at Rick. Eugene's dank breath hit his face in his struggle to find air. "Not until you tell me what you did to my son." Then, Eugene remember why he might be a little miffed.

"What I did?" He looked scared. "I did nothing. Your son is fine,"

"Oh, so you _do _know about my son," Rick hit him scare in the nose, his knuckles then stained with flecks of blood. "Speak now, or forever be unable to," his tone was fearsome and deathly.

Eugene tried to gather his thoughts together. _Should I apologise and run? No. Stupid decision and it would make Rick more angry. Besides, I can't run in this state. Well, he can't kill me if he wants information. I suppose now the walkers are gone I could tell him what happened. Is there no way out of this mess? _

"I don't know where he is anymore," he began, a pleading look in his eyes. He was dragged at full speed across the room and shoved against the wall, knocking the old owner's glass frame down, smashing into pieces on the floor.

"I'm gonna need a better answer that that!"

"I honestly-" Rick's face came dangerously close, his fists balled lethally. "I honestly- I- I don't know where he is!"

"Speak up, smart guy," Rick continued. "Do it!"

"If he stayed there, then he'll be where you sent 'im. I don't know where he is now- I- I saw the walkers," he paused for air. "I- I saw 'em. Before you-you guys did. I made the right choice- I kept us alive!" He was kneed, and fell to ground as a writhing in agony. Rick knelt down next to him.

There was now a scarcely disguised look of desperation and paternal instinct in Rick's eyes as he spoke. "You lied. YOU LIED! How could you even think that was a good idea?"

"I kept us- I kept us alive... I did it for Judith!" He started. "Imagine if she grew up with a bunch of people and never knew any of her family eve-"

Rick yelled. "SHOUT YOUR MOUTH!"

"My ass did you do this for Judith, " began Michonne slowly walking over to Eugene's bent body. "You sicken me. And to think we wasted resources on you."

"To think," Sasha shook her head looking up at the ceiling in disappointment. "We _cared_ for you. We tried so hard to tolerate you after all you did was lie. It's not _your _decision what we do. Rick's son is in danger...or worse...and it's your fault,"

"We'll take you back to the group," Michonne spoke for Rick who was having trouble rationalizing and speaking at all at that moment. "Then we'll decide what we'll do with you,"

"Carl...what about Carl?" Whispered Rick, who had the countenance of a defeated and failed father.

"We can get a bigger search group."

Sasha agreed. "We'll find him, Rick."

He nodded in response for hitting Eugene once more, picking up a couple of supplies and storming out of the room. Sasha reluctantly helped Eugene up and supported him in Rick's direction as he was limp as anything. Michonne kept watch from behind them all. She was happy she dealt with the situation. But at what cost? They could never kill Eugene off...could they?

* * *

It had been a quiet day of silent worrying for Carl and his seemingly slightly less-concerned but no less helpful new companion, Eileen.

They checked for Carl's dad in almost every house nearby, of which there were only three or four, before just travelling for a couple of hours down a dusty path with nothing but rotting green-lands as a not-so comforting backdrop.

"You changed your clothes...what'd you do with those pants you wore at the dentists?" Carl asked. Eileen had taken it upon herself to talk to him as little as possible. Whenever she did, it was often unintentionally insulting, or to intentionally call him by her chosen nickname 'moron'.

"I keep them for late at night..." she kept her head facing onward, her guns resting at her side.

"Um?"

"It's in case I have to make a quick get away and I can keep emergency things in my pockets...like them candles,"

"Ah," he agreed. "Smart,"

"Hm," she said stiffly. "I guess so. Are we just going to keep going forwards?"

"...I think so. He would keep searching for me. I know he would. He probably thinks I'm further up ahead. I mean, I disappeared for quite a while."

"Yeah but-"

"Shh!" whispered Carl.

Across the field a small group of approaching walkers hobbled towards them. The long, browning strips of grass were probably filled with hundreds of grass snakes and other creatures. In fact, as Daryl had taught Carl, some of these could be eaten. However, before Carl could deal with his continual hunger, he needed to kill off the undead who were hungry for him.

The two of them crept silently crouching down where the walkers could not see them. They exchanged a nod of agreement before they split off in different directions, sliding through the fairly tall grass, knives and guns brandished for the walking corpses.

Carl took the left way through the grass. The rotting smell was thick at his nostrils and he tired to minimize the amount of rustling that he made.

They made their way through the grass towards him slowly. It was a disgusting sight to see: entrails hanging from their stomach's, their teeth gnashing hungrily, blood dripping from their shriveled mouths. Of what he could make out without attracting too much attention, most of the walkers were old business men and women. They all wore shredded suits and pencil skirts, with rough hair slicked back spattered with moss and gore that which Carl could not identify. Many of them were young.

_I could have become a business man. _Carl thought bitterly. _I could have become so much. They all must've tried so hard to get to where they were and then they bit the dust to this- this thing. _

He started to gain a bit of speed before crouching low as a group of five or six noticed him. A brief moment of panic struck him, before diving into his usual instinct by thrusting his knife into their skulls one by one. Their drool stained his filthy clothes as they lost life and fell limp at his feet. He didn't even feel anguish or pain as he eradicated the threats. Apart from a shred of fear that anyone would feel in a perilous situation, for the most part, he felt bored. Tired of this repetitive cycle of kills. Surely, given that there were clearly more survivors than they had all anticipated, most walkers in the area will have been taken out by now. He expected that at this stage, the only threats were living competitors, and starvation. But no. He was sorely mistaken.

He crouched over, leaning on his knees, to steady his breathing, when a shrill cry of aggression sounded from the opposite direction.

_Eileen_. Carl was struck with inner turmoil. At this stage, they would scarcely refer to each other as friends, and they would struggle to feel any deep emotion for one another. Though having said this, the cry of annoyance and fear from what could only have been her made him itch with concern. _Do I actually care enough about her to care that she might be dying? I barely know her. She barely knows me. And this whole time I've spent with her, she's been nothing but distant. I can't change who she is, but somehow I get the feeling she is not being honest. And you know what? I do care. I won't let her dislike of me stop me from trying to help her. _

He set out for a run, rising from his spot and running in the other direction. He saw a flash of her driving her knife into the skull of one of them, whilst frantically aiming at the head of another with her gun. Two of the three shots were not aimed correctly, but the last was enough to do something. The walker fell on her, still trying to rip off her flesh, and the disappeared from Carl's sight above the tall grass.

_Oh God._ Carl thought, racing to her help. The other walkers she'd been cornered by were also people of business and they laid flat, skulls penetrated and ripped at. There was no sign of Eileen in the area where her kills could be found. All was silent. The walker that fell on her was lying face down to the ground with no sign of being killed visible. _Did she run off from me-_

"Carl!" she startled him immensely from behind. He had not even heard he steps behind him. His heart beat erratically in his chest, all worries thrown at him and then ripped away like a band aid. Pain. But then relief.

"Don't do that!"

"...Sorry," she whispered, apologetically. _Huh? Maybe she does a little emotion to show. _"Did you think I was dead, moron?" she smirked.

"Obviously not. Your body's not there!"

She shied away, not showing her sad face. "Yeah. Luckily...it was pretty close,"

"You did good."

"I don't need your appraisal,"

Carl shook his head. "I know. But you got it."

They both learnt each other's signals fairly quickly, and so Eileen's silence was a sign of conclusion to this close encounter. Carl indicated for them to continue onward as they would soon be losing daylight.

"We need to get water, and new clothes, and preserve energy," Eileen said. She was stern. "We then need to find a sustainable shelter for the night and check what we're carrying around. We don't want to carry a load of heavy rubbish if we don't need to."

"Understood. Next building up, we'll...we'll take a break," Carl was reluctant to stop, as the longer he spent without his Dad- without knowing of Rick's and his group's well being- he realized how much safer he felt in their company: how strong the bonds were between him and what were a group of strangers not long ago. There were moments in the last few hours of time without his family that he felt something similar to that of when he thought he'd lost his Dad the first time.

He shrugged it off and tried to lead Eileen in the right direction. She was helping him and the least he could do was put effort into making the good decisions.

* * *

Back at the camp, Maggie was searching for wood kindling with Rosita. Her hands were full, and aside from making jokes and small talk with the girl with whom she had very quickly become good friends with, the overall trip was boring.

Even with Glenn, Daryl, Abraham and Carol back at camp, without Rick and the rest of the group there for what seemed like the longest time, the others were growing slowly more vulnerable. It took very much persuasion to the others to convince them that it would be okay for her and Rosita to search for fire fuel. People were becoming more agitated. They ate the deer earlier that day and left some for when Rick and such returned. The water and scarce food left at the side for them was very unsettling to walk past. Not knowing about their safety was the worst part. And the food they had kept aside for them, untouched was a persistent reminder that they may never make it back at all.

"'Ey, Maggie!" Rosita called. Maggie lugged what she had over her shoulder and wandered over to her.

"What?"

"How much you got?"

She showed what she was carrying. Three long logs which could be cut down to size, and handful of crisp leaves. "Not much but enough for now. You?"

Rosita indicated to a pile that accumulated next to a tree that resembled that of Maggie's. "Catching up to ya, eh?" She smiled.

"Yeah, I guess so."

They were about to drag what they could back to camp, when they heard the footsteps of several people. They prepared their weapons and hid appropriately behind the trees. Maggie took the safety off her gun, ready, but was greeted by the missing members of the group, all with solemn faces, dragging Eugene mercilessly behind them.

All of them, of course, except one.

Carl.

"Where is the boy?" Rosita pushed, bluntly.

...

"Is he dead?"

...

Maggie inhaled. "I'm so sorry-"

"He's not dead." Sasha stated. "Well, we don't know. But we lost him."

Rosita rushed over to Eugene and held his face gently in her hands, wiping some of the blood from his nose with her sleeve. Since the Washington lie, she had felt sorry for the poor man. Even if he had the audacity to make her and Abraham drive for a long while for no reason. It was clever and she accepted his efforts to survive, as long as he were to not try it again.

She kissed his forehead. "Eugene, you alright, man?"

"Leave him," Rick demanded.

"Wha-"

"He's done it again."

Maggie rushed over to join them, hugging Sasha and Michonne happy for their survival. "What? What'd he do?"

Michonne took it upon herself to answer. "He saw a hoard of walkers. He lied again. We lost Carl. We gotta get him back to the group to tell them. Then, as soon as we can, we get Carl." She leaned in closer and whispered in Maggie's ear. "Rick is not okay right now. He's in a state of delirium. And while he will try to avoid hurting any of us, we'll need to be attentive."

"Do you think Carl's dead, Michonne?"

"...No. Not yet. He's like his Dad. We just gotta get to him before anything else does,"

Rosita withdrew from the comforting stance that she was in moments before. She was livid. She was wrong to think he might have changed. She was wrong to waste energy feeling sorry for the scum bag. Rosita had barely talked to the boy they had lost, but she knew that it was plain evil and cowardly to have caused whatever this was. Carl was young, and needed his father. And Eugene, the scum beneath their feet, had manipulated them when they had just started to trust him again. She could bare to look at him, and when she did, all she could give him was a screwed up, dirty look of complete hatred.

Pushing all concerns to the forefront of her mind, Maggie hurriedly picked up the kindling and led the tired and angry members back to the main camp set up. Rosita followed behind, hanging her head in disappointment.

They arrived to the campfire, where the Judith was playing with an old fish toy they had discovered months back; where Glenn and Noah were exchanging stories on the forest floor; Tara was singing to herself whilst washing clothes and Carol was reading a book. In unison, the group looked up and found their lips curling into large smiles. One by one, they noticed Eugene and their faces drooped.

Rick pulled into camp and dumped Eugene on the floor. Quickly, Daryl emerged from the black abyss behind the camp to see the grim, hateful look on Rick's face. He instinctively grabbed his crossbow and readied himself in a battle stance; Daryl knew when Rick found someone unsafe, and like a brother, he was prepared to fight in order to protect him.

"Where's Carl?" Glenn swallowed nervously.

Rick sniffed and stepped forward. Michonne followed closely beside to stop him from making an irrational move. "We all had a house to search each. Sasha kept a close watch on Eugene. We all agreed to meet back at a certain spot after a set amount of time...and we did. Carl was running late, which was fine. But Eugene-" He paused to deliver a mean look. "Eugene saw a hoard of walkers before we did, and decided to lie. He told us Carl was in the opposite direction...so he could save himself. And now- and now God knows where Carl is."

He began to whimper and cry and fell to his hands and knees. Daryl pulled Eugene up by his neck and pointed his crossbow at his bleeding nostrils.

"What you playin' at, huh?" he grunted. "You think you can jus' do that?"

"...I kept us safe...pleas-"

"Rick's in charge! Ain't you gettin' that yet?"

Eugene nodded quickly. "I got it-"

"No. Tha's that thing. You ain't got it. Rick here's got every reason to put you down right now," Daryl looked back at Rick, slightly pushing Eugene out to him as an offering. As much as Rick wanted to murder him, he knew that if Carl came back, he would never be able to look at his father the same way. Killing someone for making what at the time, was actually a sensible decision.

"...I don't- I don't know what to do," Rick cried. Michonne sat down beside him and patted his shoulder. "I'm a bad father, I have to deal with Eugene, I have lil' Judith. I got you guys to take care of-a-an-and I jus-" Michonne pulled out a cloth and wiped his running nose. "I need help, Michonne."

She rose from her spot and addressed the group. "Carl's gone. I believe he is still alive. Daryl," he looked at her. "You can track him. We'll check for him in groups. He's in the direction we sent him in. We make our rota and start searching tomorrow. We're losing daylight hours and need to eat," she threw forward her bag of goods from the corner shop.

"He's got weapons, right?" Carol asked.

"Mmmhmm," Michonne nodded. "And spare ammo. He's smart. There were plenty of buildings he could have kept in for the night. He either waited for us, or is on his way back. Maybe he went through the forest on a longer route to avoid walkers and got lost. Either way, he would've tried to get back to us-"

"What about food?" someone said. "Is he gonna have enough? And water?"

"...I don't know."

"What about a knife?"

"Yes!" she cried. "Don't you guys believe me? He'll be fine. And be a little more encouraging right now," her eyes flickered to where Rick sat in a pile of leaves, wiping his wet face.

"C'mon, Rick," Carol got him up. "Got ya some deer if you're peckish?"

"Amen!" Sasha giggled.

Daryl smiled before dragging Eugene off for a good talking to with Glenn, and Abraham.

* * *

**Thank you for taking the time to read and I hope you're enjoying it so far. **


	7. Escaping the Topic of Conversation

**Author's note-**

**I have began to introduce some new characters in this chapter. Some mild violence suggested but very infrequent throughout. **

**Thank you for taking the time to read my story. **

**Enjoy :D**

* * *

Carl and Eileen eventually found a lone outhouse which they crept into. Carl took down the two elderly walkers as they entered and dragged them outside before closing the door and tying it closed with some spare rope that Eileen helpfully had in her mysterious bag of necessities. As it happens, Carl was yet to discover the rest of the contents of the bag and why she so desperately needed to go back and get it.

"It's small," she stated, almost disappointed.

He laughed. "What? Upset you couldn't clear out a convenient mansion or something?" S

he replied with a dark glare. "Yeah. Something like that."

"Well. It'll be getting dark soon. I hadn't realised that we'd been out looking all day. I haven't really eaten or drunk since I had some many tinned food a couple of hours ago. Oh, and some more of that water you gave me."

"I have more in my bag."

Nodding thankfully, he traveled over to where her bag was dumped in the corner to retried some before he was nudged over onto the floor by her. "What-"

"You can't just go into my bag!"

"You said-"

"Yeah. Sorry. My bag is private. Besides, I'm doing you a favor, so you can't just help yourself to my possessions." She picked up the bag slowly, taking out a half drunk bottle of water and throwing it onto the floor before him.

_What is her problem? I mean, sure, there's privacy and then there's just plain spite. She didn't have to shove me in the ribs and chuck some water at me. C'mon man. Whatever you do, do _not _say anything. You'll just start another fight and the way things are going, I could really do with keeping whatever level of trust we both share. To be fair, I have made her trudge around all day in search of people she's never met before. But she agreed to do it, so I hardly think I deserve to be treated this way! It's like treading on egg shells around her...Just hold your tongue... _"Thanks," he mumbled, rubbing his slightly aching ribs.

She didn't respond and instead found some books about fishing and bird watching. Ten or so minutes of silence later, she rolled half an apple, the other half that she had not eaten, to Carl who slumped against the wall scratching a plan of the next few days out.

"Eat it. And if you're not going to, pass it back, please," she offered a weak smile, distracted by the glorious information beheld in the text before herself.

He crunched on it for some time before reaching the core. He made to throw it to the side, but she caught him doing so in her peripheral vision and snatched it away from him.

"They'll be useful," she whispered and she picked the seeds from the center and gave it back to him. "You can eat the rest now." Eileen grabbed her bag and undid an empty, old Vaseline pot and placed the four seeds in. They landed upon a collection of other seeds with a slightly tuneful shake.

Still a little taken aback by her abrupt snatching, he smiled slowly. "Halves?"

"...okay..." He ripped off the stalk and they ate all the remains between themselves. It was a symbolic and rather uneventful first meal, but the silent exchange of somewhat satisfied looks was enough to stop them from quarreling for a while.

As the sun began to fall nearby, something that which they noticed through the closed blinds of the outhouse, Eileen grasped her bag and pulled out her pants.

"Carl...do you mind turning round for a sec, please?" she asked awkwardly.

He gave a dumb, vacant look. "Why?"

A look of raised eyebrows alerted him that she wanted to get changed and he quickly obliged turning himself to face the small cabinet filled with little picture frames. Each one was filled brilliantly, with vibrant images of what could only be the same two old men fishing together; exchanging alcoholic beverages; and kissing. The two of them must have been gay. As a young man growing up the in the apocalypse, Carl doubted he'd ever get time to comprehend love or deep affection, let alone experience it himself.

All that he knew of it was that was Glenn and Maggie and the suspicious circumstances of his own parent's relationship. He knew that love was a test of great courage and time. You would have be willing to make sacrifices, and as much as he understood this from wanting to protect family, he had never been quite prepared to do this for a romantic cause. The same way that Glenn was protective over Maggie when they went on runs.

As for his parents, well, that was difficult. A few months ago, Rick had taken the fatherly liberty of explaining how things went down. Obviously, the 'talk' was delivered in small discrete bits over the last few years, so Carl was able to piece together what he thought happened. Rick, his brave father, loved his beautiful, yet betraying mother, Lori. They got together one day and had him. Though as time went on, their relationship began to deteriorate. He knew that much from hearing their countless arguments, in which his father would be rendered silent in the hope that he would not upset his mother. Carl remembered the day when his father was shot: how they had looked each other in the eye before his mother insinuated that Rick did not care about the rest of the family.

He had gone to school that day confused and quiet, unenthusiastic about the games his friends wanted to play. Unenthusiastic for the lessons, which resulted in several telling-offs. And to top it off, he got the news from his mother that his father had been shot at work, leaving him to ball his eyes out. When this happened, he was very much preparing himself for the worst. And for a short bit of time, the worst came: the apocalypse began and his father never returned.

In the meantime, Shane took care of him and Lori. Which was fine at the time, until Carl was able to figure out that he may have been up to things with his Mother, a thought that made him feel uncomfortable, and worse, may have caused the birth of a sister which may or may not even be fully his. It angered him to his very core and made his mother's love for his true father questionable. She moved on pretty quickly.

His dad shot Shane. Then, at the prison, he shot his mom. Rick had informed him that before that happened, they had briefly considered a divorce, despite their situation not allowing for this change of the legality of their marriage. Still, his father, a respectable man, pledged to care for the baby, and tried his best to forgive the woman he still loved, but could never look at the same again.

_Why did any of this have to happen to anyone?_ He cried in his mind. He let his head fall onto his knees as he seethed to himself.

Rustling behind him concluded and was succeeded by silence.

"Can I turn back round now?"

"Sure," she replied. She had kept on the top half of her clothes and exchanged the leggings, now crumpled to her left, for her candle-carrying pants.

"I guess you're prepared for adventure now, right?" he joked.

"Yup."

_Is she always this dull or is she just trying her best to be?_

"Are your group nice?" she blurted, instantly regretting her inquiry.

"Why'd you think I want to look for them?"

She shrugged. "...people change."

He studied her for a short moment before divulging. "They're nice, yes. Some of them haven't been. We dealt with them."

"How so?"

"Like you said," he paused. Rapid flashbacks of grueling terrors and villains stormed through his brain causing his brain to quake in his skull. So much blood and gore had passed but none more fragile then the friends he'd lost to those murderers. "People change, and they come and go for different reasons. But as far as we are aware, everyone with us is good. We've been this way for the last couple of years. We lost a preacher man not long ago. He was weak, but kind. It was sad, but inevitable."

"Did you know him well?"

He thought about it. Of course, he had saved Judith, Michonne and himself a long time ago. He was charitable, and while Dale was no longer about to act as the moral compass for the group, Father Gabriel offered cherished paraphrases of the Bible for hope. He was a comforting man and an excellent carer for Judith. And then, there was the event of the church in which he let all those people die. He was a changed man, but he never became a fighter. Perhaps this made him one of the truest people Carl had met. "I suppose so. He did some things he regretted, like all of us, but he was a good man. He was a good member of the group. He's about the only man of faith we've met, who stayed true to his beliefs of no violence."

"...which I assumed caused his death." Eileen was straight forward about her deduction. She knew she had grazed his soul right then, and her apologetic look got her forgiveness. _Idiot! You're not some recluse! You know how to talk to people! The least you could have done was apologize for his loss, not make his old friend look like a fool. _

"Precisely. We gave him a funeral with all we could find. Tears were shed, but none of us could escape the fact the we all saw it coming."

It was a shock at all that she listened, but she did so ever so well. He saw in her eyes, honestly and real empathy. Her genuine care about his life was the first real sign of friendship that had bloomed since their first encounter. It was a break from the arguing and stubbornness. She slowly nodded. "That sucks...losing someone close, that is. Anyway...got enough ammo?"

The change of topic was on the harsh side, but a relief at the same time. He checked the gun. "A little bit."

"I've still got two guns."

He grinned. "That's very generous,"

"Hey!" she chuckled lightly. "I never said I would give you one." His face drooped at the news. It was difficult to tell whether she was mocking him or being genuine at that stage. She was a difficult person to deal with. Her constant temperament changes were hard to keep up with. "I'm joking."

"Oh,"

She continued. "I'll make a deal with you. I rarely have to use these guns. I have probably used them more in the last day or so trying to save you than I have in the last month. So yeah, I've got loads of ammo. The point I am trying to make is...that I make good decisions. I'm not trying to come across as snobby, and I know it's _your_ dad we're trying to locate. I propose that in exchange for letting me make a large fraction of the decisions we make-in terms of basic survival techniques, etc- you can get my gun. So long as you promise to follow me. If you do so, then you won't have to use up all my ammo-"

"Hang on," he held his hands up, unsure. "Why do you get to make them kinds of decisions?"

"Because, my apologies, but in the time I have known you, we have encountered a plethora of those rotters, and you have put yourself in unnecessary danger a couple of times. I would prefer it if I could make decisions on how I survive, since as much as I sort of want to help you... I don't trust my life with you."

"Rude," he scoffed. "I saved your life back there, ya know..."

"Yeah. You don't know me well, moron, and I don't want to tell you my whole back story, but I've been doing this kind of thing for two years now, so I would like to think I have a pretty good idea of how to loot, and play hide and seek with whatever nature has to offer. I wouldn't like to see myself dying of something like starvation, thirst, or freezing to death."

He leaned back. "Two years?" He was skeptical.

"Don't ask questions, please...like my bag, until I know you better, some things are going to be private."

Eileen felt incredibly selfish and rude, holding back such information when he had so trustingly told her of a death which had dented the paradigm of his group. She had no doubts that he had a much more grimmer past than what he had told her, but she felt compelled to tell him something and yet she could not do it. She just wasn't ready.

"Gotcha," he mumbled, pulling his hat over his eyes in relaxation.

_Okay, tomorrow, I gotta search harder to find Dad_. His thoughts became a foggy mist of far-fetched ideas and schemes in order to get his dad back.

"If what you say about your group is true, then I expect it won't take us long to find them. It's likely they're looking for you." She said gravely.

_I just hope that they are._

* * *

Inside a very large room was a large, mahogany desk. Lounging on the computer chair behind the said desk was a woman, with a stern black bob-cut hairstyle, and a formal looking jumpsuit. It was black. Surrounding her, hundreds of photos and files hanging from walls, of expressionless people staring back at her.

Beside the desk, was a convenient espresso machine. It was tasteless that anyone could relax themselves in such an eerie office like space, yet she made it seem possible. Her beady eyes were blackened, sharpened, capturing every inch of the information posted around her. She said there, biting her chipped nails evaluating the information beheld around her.

A loud bang on the door to the room withdrew her attention and she shouted for them to enter. A cruel, and somewhat sentimental smile graced her face when her son and daughter both strode into the room, carrying new files in their hands.

Her daughter sported tamed, cascading, cherry red hair, and was nineteen years of age. Despite the lack of physical inheritance from her mother, she had the same keen intellect and fierceness that drove their current existence in this dead man-eat-other living man world. Her eagerness to live up to her mother's expectations drove the compound structure of their loving relationship. It ensured that they worked well as a team.

Her brother on the other hand, had inherited all manners of physical appearance. Dark hair, sharp facial features; he was handsome in one the respect that he was almost chiseled from lavish stone. His eyes however, were green and fruitful, a contrast to the rest of his look. He was seventeen, soon to be eighteen, and was everything his sister was not: thoughtful, at times gentle, and generous.

"Mom," the girl peeped, pushing her hair behind her shoulder. "Brother dearest and I bring you more files,"

"Excellent, Jasmine. How has Luca been getting on in Admin?"

Jasmine grasped her younger brother's arm encouragingly, smiling brightly. "Very well, Mom. He is very speedy when it comes to alphabetizing articles and profiles. I believe that he has been lacking ever so recently though." A brief look of terror on the reluctant son's face alerted his older sibling that what she about to tell his mother, was something which he would prefer untold. "He has been listening to music while he does his work." In that moment, he felt large amounts of disgust at his sister's sickly desire to be an angel.

Horrific silence struck. His mother studied him. Let it not be said that cheerful Luca disobeyed his mother during work. He wanted like his sister, to make her happy and achieve what she was hoping to, but he always felt intimidated by his mother ever since she had grasped control of this unit she ran. His mother gave him a pointed look. While she was proud of her daughter's loyalty and commitment, she had to focus herself on reprimanding her son from distracting himself from their ultimate goal.

"You have one job, Luca. You are to sort through files. I trust that this is not difficult,"

"No, Mom," he bowed his head.

"Then why must you listen to music?" she remained calm. Frighteningly so.

He gulped bravely. "I used to like music before the dead came back. I still do...I just- just thought it would be fun."

She stood up from her desk slowly. "...fun?..._fun?_" He did nothing but prepare himself for the shrill cry of frustration that was to come. "Fun is not allowed! Not when you have only just started work. I understand that your sister is telling the truth of your excellent work, but we are running a tight and strict business here. You are my son, and I..._love_ you. However, if your sister, another member of staff, or I catch you tapping into the limited power without permission to listen to _music _again, then you will be punished accordingly."

Her sister forcefully snatched the files from his hands and placed them carefully on their mother's desk, giving her a sweet smile. "Here you go, Mom."

"Thank you, sweetie. Now return to your jobs. And Luca, do not disobey rules again," She said this with firm finality. Something inherently perverse was within her motherly, reprimanding tone. It went undetected by Jasmine, but was picked up by her son.

He remembered sadly what happened to the last member of staff caught lunching in the planning room. Well, in actual fact, he remembered not knowing what happened to him after he was caught doing this. The last thing he saw of him, after he was caught, was his impassive straight-face photo clipped to sealed file which he gave to his mother.

He knew what was going on around here, just not in extreme detail. He had rarely encountered those attacking from the grave before the set up of his mother's unit. Luca remembered saving his sister with a knife, but that was along time ago, and he was grateful for what they had gathered together. He just wished it could be less strict.

After watching her beautiful children turn on their heels and respectfully exit the room, she grabbed the files. A middle-aged woman, not much older than herself, was clipped to the front of the first one. Her face was darkened from the wear and tear she had been through. They had been kind enough to house her and feed her, and she was a very wise lady.

Valerie Freund, housewife come apocalyptic business woman, flipped open the top file.

**Name: Alyssa White**

**Age:47**

**Health when found: Minor starvation and small breathing struggles. _All rectified on April 27th 2014._**

**Participation in research: Given drug on August 9th 2014. Behavior stayed relatively normal compared to life before drug. Some sleep talking occurred. **

**Death: October 7th 2014**

**After death observations: No changes to behavior. Memory patterns lost. Met the same criteria as the rest of the undead. Put down before turning. **

**Other notes: questionable daytime twitching witnessed before and on the day of her death.**

Smiling to herself about the progress of her team, Valerie put down the pile of notes reading for closer reading later, and leaned over to make herself a nice, warm cup of coffee.

* * *

**Thanks for reading :D**


	8. Guilt

As they reached an area cut-off from the rest of the group, Daryl and his men dragged Eugene up against a tree and surrounded him, their weapons held forward. Should he move an inch, without permission or good intention, then they could easily put a bullet through his brain. At this stage, it was easy to give him up: he was dispensable, and an untrustworthy companion jeopardizing the safety of one of their members, a child no less.

Due to his foolish ways, Carl's disappearance happened, putting his father in an uncanny, unstable place in which he cannot possibly be relied on to make conscious, well-thought out decisions. So Daryl, assuming the role of the 2nd in charge, knew that sadly, Eugene's life and place in the group would be in his hands- with the help of the group, obviously.

In time, with the deaths he had watched and close bonds he had made, Daryl became a man. A brave warrior who learnt to keep his own. He soon learnt after, that he did not always need to rely on himself, and that he could rely on those who learnt to love him and care for him in equal measure. He always felt in debt to them.

But life was valuable. And even if most of his killings were brutal and with a lack of remorse, something as tragic as execution for something that Daryl himself may have done admittedly had it been the beginning of it all. However, as a changed man, he realized life had a value. Eugene's life was no different. One could argue that he did not deserve to be alive, although his wits, despite their cowardly nature, were good enough to bless him with survival. These characteristics were thrust upon him from birth, and so maybe he was fated this way. So in some sense, perhaps he _is_ meant to have made it this long.

Deciding this only made Daryl even more conflicted. It felt wrong to kill someone who had quickly become a vastly contributing member of the group complex. The hostility towards Eugene vanished at the knowledge of what he did, and transformed quickly into an apprehensive rage; nervous that he might beg for mercy- knowing that Eugene deserved dismissal but that Daryl would find that the human deep inside himself could not be so cruel. It occurred to Daryl in that moment, that perhaps Rick was more important in his life than he had believed.

Had Rick been stable, he would presented the group with options; they group would then pick the most preferable, and deciding that he was ready to commit, Rick would follow through with the democracy's decision. Until then, Daryl was happy being the side-man, carry out the deeds and such. Perhaps inside, the real reason he struggled to assume Rick's role was that he feared disapproval from Rick himself, that he was not going to be as good.

"Daryl," Glenn grunted, eyes piercing the trembling face of Eugene. The tree loomed over the small ensemble. And the furious range of emotions radiating off of those confronting him was enough to shake earth and the trees around them. "I say we think about this-"

"There's nothin' to think about, Glenn," Abraham said. "He betrayed us. He betrayed Rick. He betrayed me." There was a slight tone of hurt in his voice, strangled by his desire to consistently appear emotionless and strong.

Turning to face his larger, ginger companion, Glenn was confused. "You are still a functioning human, right?" He scoffed. "Has being with this group, living in this world taught you nothing?"

"I suggest you shut your mouth, kid,"

Daryl stood staring at Eugene wondering what to do next. A small fraction of him clung to the hope that Glenn might take over. His excellent wit and understanding of the world would surely encourage exceptional decision making.

"Or what?" Glenn asked.

"...Or nothin'. Kid, what do you mean _'think'_? He made us believe we should trust him!"

"That's just his way of survival!"

"And what about Carl?"

Glenn stepped back, crushing a twig bringing them all to attention.

"Shut up," Daryl mumbled. "All of y'all. Shut it," He inhaled deeply. "Rick...he ain't okay. And I don' know if I'm gonna make the righ' decision, 'ere. I wan' the best for us too. But he's like us. He jus' wants to live."

"Exactly," Glenn chirped. "Can we just send him away-"

"NO! No-no-no, please, I'm sorry-" Eugene blubbered, flinching at the nearing of Daryl's crossbow to his face.

He grunted, and withdrew the bow. "Thought so...Abe, you trusted 'im. I get it. But man, you gotta know that in this world, there's gon' be hundreds of people you think you can trust. Glenn, you're right, a death sentence ain't gonna cut it. We give 'im what we can, as charitable as we are, and leave the idiot to make 'is own way 'bout. It's wha' he expected Carl to do, anyway," He added bitterly.

A moment of group silence indicated their agreement, and was interrupted by the struggle of Eugene held tightly down by Abraham's large foot.

"We gotta take him back to the group," said Glenn.

"Get 'im up," Daryl instructed, before leading the three of them down a now dark route back to the camp.

* * *

The ink-black sky peeked through the gaps in the outhouse, where nothing but the outline of a couple of shelving units were visible. Carl and Eileen were lucky enough to be greeted by the, or there lack of, comfort in two single wicker chairs. Both were curled up. Both of them were exhausted, since food and water had been scarce that day, yet neither wished to sleep.

However in that moment, Carl Grimes felt compelled to ask more about her life, which she was guarding with so much secrecy. He deserved to know a bit more than what she had given him; treating him rudely, with a cold shoulder and a few words declaring how annoying he was. Though questions were difficult with Eileen because there were any number of those acceptable to ask, and those that were down-right unacceptable to even think of asking.

He decided he'd go for little details. And draw information out of her slowly. _If she wants to tell me things, she will. If she doesn't, it's not the end of the world- well, okay, bad choice of words. _He chuckled to himself inside, trying to make himself see the light of things. _Just make conversation. _

"So," he began slowly. "Is asking your surname a violation of your privacy?"

"No," she said quickly. "It's Werendell, if you must know. What's yours?"

"Grimes,"

She scoffed to herself. "Oh come _on_!"

Carl sat up, insulted. _What's wrong with my name? She has had the audacity to spend the whole time she's spent with me, calling me a 'moron' and telling me how annoying I am, as well as not taking to me at all at points, and now she wants to insult my family name? Who does she think she is? _"What's wrong with my name?"

"It's _Grimes_. Are you kidding me? That's such a heroic sounding name...especially after you attempted to save my life. I mean what are the chances you'd have a cool sounding name? Why can't you just be Carl Jones or something..." she laughed.

He joined in, suddenly enlightened about the hidden sense of humor that was unveiled before his eyes. It had been a while since he had heard genuine laughter like her own. Eileen herself felt uplifted by her own chuckling, knowing that she had never been as elated as she was then, even if it was only about a small joke on her part. There had been no one to joke with for the last two years in her life. Or four if you count the time she spent with her disastrous family.

Carl's offense was taken over be happiness and confusion. Was that Eileen's way of poorly wording a compliment? "Well I don't see how Werendell is a normal name either,"

"I'll agree with you there!"

As the laughter died down, he tried to access some more of the serious information. It was a step further- or leap further than her surname, but it was worth a try.

"You remember the house we went back to?"

"Duh," she said. "I'm not a goldfish. What about it?"

He spoke scornfully. "The town thing it was in reminded me of this place called Woodbury."

"I saw that place a while ago. I avoided it. I didn't, and still don't, want to risk unnecessary conflict. A meek teenage girl against a group of goodness knows what the world wants to throw at me is an unfair fight in my opinion. I stay away from people...most of the time. I hate to imagine how others turned out. There's a reason I'm still alive. Luck. And I avoid people."

"So you've never met anyone dangerous?"

Immediately, her flinching was indication that he had prodded a nerve. "We're done talking."

She jumped up, and he tried to do so to calm her down, but her temperament had rapidly changed from relaxed to angry and as she stormed passed him to pick up a fairly large sheet, she bumped his shoulder deliberate. He was off balance for a short second, but thought not to act on this brisk moment of fury, that it might cause her more anguish.

"I'm tired," she said, cuddling herself back in the chair.

"I'll take first watch then," he said, still shocked from the quick change of emotions that had occurred.

"...That was my intention."

* * *

Dinner that evening was gorgeous and pleased everyone in the camp. There were songs of glee, and laughs around, and everyone was cheerful. They were all doing there best to avoid over-thinking Carl's disappearance. Everyone was forcing a smile. Everyone but Rick. He settled himself in the corner where he questioned himself.

It was not a lack of faith in Carl that had him concerned, but that of a paternal worry deep within him, and a worry of himself: was he a danger to his group? Only once had he become a murderous lunatic, and that was in the wake of the bloody death of his wife, Lori. It broke his soul, and now Carl was gone, things were about to get a whole lot worse.

Yet how could he be a father to Judith and a leader of his pack if he couldn't look in the face of one particular member without feeling the need to strangle for vengeance. Without feeling the need to draw blood. He trusted the others to make the decisions for him, but was ashamed to know that he had lost all sense of calmness and control.

Two nights would soon be spent without Carl. His son. His pride and joy, someone who he raised to be a fighter. He could barely imagine what he must be thinking out there alone, in the cold night, in the dryness of the day. For the time he had spent without his son, he had not yet taken time to consider how Carl might've reacted to not have been found yet. Perhaps he too felt betrayed by his father.

"Rick," Michonne coughed. "You alright?"

His corner was filled with belongings. It was well hidden from the others, but close enough for him to see them dancing around the campfire. "No."

"Deer taste good though, don't it?"

He dully nodded. "Yeah,"

She took a seat next to him on a pile of crusty leaves and twigs, and kissed his forehead. "Better?"

"No,"

"Rick, you need to know that sitting about worrying like this won't get you anywhere. Remember after the prison, we got separated, and Carl was doing things on his own? He'll be doing that-"

"It's not that-"

"Then what?"

He wiped his cheeks. "I don't wanna hurt anybody because I can't handle the pressure."

"You didn't hurt anybody when Lori passed. No one can deny that you had problems, but so does everyone after something bad happens. You can still lead this group. You can still be the dad that you know you are. We all still trust you. There's not a single person here that thinks any less of you for being upset-"

"But-"

"But now you gotta step up to show how much of leader you are. Life is testing you. This is what makes you great! You are what we all try to be. You're strong. Now stop sitting there feeling sorry for yourself. Your son is fine, you'll stop feeling sad about things when we deal with the problem. Eugene." As soon as she said this, Daryl and his men emerged from the trees and presented their new enemy to the group. Michonne helped a weak Rick up from the floor and lead him to them.

"Eugene betrayed us. Rick is in no state of mind- no stable state to do something about it. Who knows whether it'll happen again... a third time..." Glenn said.

Daryl nodded. "Since Rick can't make the decision, we decided to give him a few supplies, 'n' drop 'im off somewhere else."

In the midst of explaining their plan, Rick appeared with Michonne, proud of his friend for filling in. Daryl stopped talking, assuming that Rick would finish. Instead, he nodded for Daryl to continue.

"Um...I-err, we're gon' give 'im some food. A couple of knives. Maybe some ammo for if he finds a gun. I believe that we should not trust this man anymore. He's done good for us before, but our companionship with this man is over. We'll send 'im off a less brutal way. Agreed?"

Murmurs of sad agreement sounded.

"Agreed." Came Rick's voice alone from the crowd. "Now, go enjoy what's left of the evening. We begin Carl's search early tomorrow."

They went back to loudly chatting, and Daryl strode over to Rick. They exchanged a brotherly embrace. "Glad you're feelin' okay, man,"

"Thank Michonne," he smiled. "She gave me a good talking to. It was well needed."

* * *

The next day was much warmer than the last couple. It was not blisteringly hot, nor was it freezing, and so the temperate climate was encouraging them on their endeavors that day: they needed to find Carl.

Rick, having had the luxury of a bottle of water and a change of t-shirt, tried to avoid showing any signs of his deeper nerves.

"Guys," he addressed the freshly awoken camp. Many were furiously tired because of the alternating watch shifts through the night- some of them felt guilty about the desertion of Eugene which they planned to do. The lot of them looked back at him expectantly. "...I think we need to find him in one whole group-"

"What?" shouted Abraham.

Rosita was equally annoyed. "Are you crazy, man?"

"Yeah, we just got comfortable in this place!"

He scratched his beard and nodded awkwardly back at them. "When has splitting up every done us any good?"

None of them could offer a justifiable argument.

"Exactly!"

Carol stepped forward, sharpening her knife. "We have plenty of food and water since Michonne and Sasha emptied that corner shop," She smiled towards Rick. The relationship between Carol and Rick was turbulent for a couple of years; although she viewed him as a brave individual, she couldn't quite fathom her full opinion. It was this man that allowed her daughter to turn, and it was he who forced her on her own. And while he had understandable excuses, it always caused her a small pain in the chest to look at him. Worse, she still trusted him wholly.

Rising from his spot on a log, Noah rose. "We gotta move out? What about the months we spent searching for a safe place like this-"

"-Are you dumb?" Daryl questioned. "Rick wants us to leave. We had a few good nights 'ere. We've eaten well. Wake up from your lil' dream, man! You ain't gonna stay in just one place!"

Sasha interjected. "He's right. The other day, when we didn't come back, the place was crawlin' with hundreds of walkers,"

"More importantly, we need to find Carl. We can split up at check points, but there is no way we're going to split up for long distances. We start in a bit." She said this with a tone of finality.

"Hey!" Shouted Abraham, ready to retort. One glare from Michonne calling his bluff sent him quiet. As fierce as he used to be, he knew that the group were close knit, and he grew to be friendly with them- causing arguments now would not be smart. Deep down, he was reluctant to move out of the area, given they had seen very few walkers and they had gotten so comfortable. They finally achieved happiness and the betrayal by his trainee and friend Eugene shattered the merry existence they were to live by.

Grabbing some left over deer and a small handful of tinned peaches, Tara threw herself on to the ground and shoveled the food down quickly. At that moment, Glenn was handling baby Judith, feeding some mashed up peaches from the same tin to her. Judith strongly disliked the substance she was fed, but in a situation like theirs, she didn't have much variety to choose from.

"You got your things?" Tara asked Glenn.

"Yeah, Maggie sorted them out while I dealt with Judy,"

She nodded back. "Cool, we're heading of shortly, so you might wanna finish up. Try patting her back a little when you guide the spoon towards her. It seems to relax her or something-"

"On second thoughts," Rick said. "Let me take her for a moment."

"Okay, Daddy Grimes," Tara laughed, as she watched Glenn hand over the child. "Be careful, she's not a great mood."

"Yeah...just like her mom then. She was never in a particularly fantastic mood. And she's equally as beautiful,"

Shortly, the group set off trailing their belongs over their shoulders, well-energized by the food available to them.

"Psst," Daryl said to Rick, who carried his daughter firmly in his arms. The two of them straggled behind the group. "Where we gonna take Eugene?" He nodded towards the smart guy with the mullet who was being monitored by Abraham and Glenn, with Tyreese shortly behind and Carol watching closely to the side.

"...I haven't thought about it yet. He's definitely going though. Soon."

"He's smart."

"Yeah? Smart enough to lie."

"I'm just saying. It might be dangerous to just leave him. What if he pulls a stunt? He might do mind games or something...or find his way back to us to get revenge!" He grunted.

"...Nah, he's knows what he's done. He knows his place."

* * *

Eileen awoke grumpily to Carl towering over her holding her bag out right up against her nose, and his own bag or his shoulder, his gun thrown in the bag and his knife in his belt. His eyes were widened as he had decided to let her sleep the entire night, rather than wake her up.

"Wha-are yadoing?" she blurred her words into one. Suddenly, she noticed her bag and snatched it off of him. "WHY DID YOU TAKE ME BAG!" she squealed.

"I didn't!" He yelled bag, his hands up in the air. "Okay...well it looks that way- but I swear, I didn't look inside!"

"...you better hope you didn't!" She groaned, getting herself up.

"I didn't! You don't have to act like that! You can trust me!" He was telling the truth- he hadn't thought of looking in there, and was in fact growing impatient about finding his group.

_Where could they be? I'd have thought they'd have found me now. Probably a big misunderstanding, I suppose. Dad wouldn't forget about me. I expect if we just carry on we'll bump into them. I don't know what Eileen will do afterwards...probably take her precious bag and run! I shouldn't say this but I'm not sure I like her. She's very on edge and won't trust me, especially since I've done nothing to cause distrust. _

"Whatever," she sniffed, her eyes glazed by a grey swarm. For a moment she felt feint, but ignored it in the hope she could get away from him for a moment. "Let's go," she stormed out of the outhouse, after checking for walkers, and left Carl stranded alone inside.

"What's your problem?" he shouted.

She didn't dignify this with a response.

He snorted. "Oh? The silent treatment. How am I supposed to have you make decisions if you won't talk to me, eh?"

Still nothing.

"Fine..." he gave up, deciding to let her sort out her own issues. "Keep going forward, we'll get some more water and things on the way."

She obeyed and stayed quiet for the rest of the journey, occasionally stopping at houses to put one or two zombies down and grab more supplies.

_Why can't he just accept that he's annoying? He always has to be cocky and right, and can't stand that I don't want to just trust him straight away. Well, tough. He's going to have to realized that not everyone is grand fan of Carl God-damn Grimes! He's such a pest! He thinks I didn't see what he was up to last night! I'm far from stupid- I know he trying to draw information out of me, but he doesn't get decide when I feel comfortable sharing my miserable home life with him. _

There was no luck finding his Dad for the next few hours. They stumbled across an small cottage on the outskirts of wherever they had come from. It was pretty, with nice colors around the windows, and a welcome mat. Inside however, they found an old lady decaying in her rocking chair, a horrific sight to behold. Luckily, the woman was already boasting a large gaping hole in her gooey forehead, so clearly someone had been around and put her down not long ago. This made Eileen nervous, but Carl had not even reacted, unless it was to try and joke about something. She refused to tell him she was scared, let alone talk at all.

* * *

**Enjoyed writing this one, but I have some cool action scenes soon so stay tuned! **

**Thanks for taking the time to read. **

**Many Oranges :D**


	9. The Usual Routine

_**An eleven-year-old Eileen sat ungracefully on her boarding school bed, cradling a cup of hot chocolate and a bucket-load of homework assignments that had yet to be completed. She was slender, tall for her age, but unlikely to grow above five foot five in later years. Her eyebrows were bushy and untamed compared to those of her friends: none of which had decided to stay over the Christmas holidays. Of course, Eileen would also have liked to go home too, but alas, this was not the plan her parents had in mind.**_

_**She was alerted of the news, as she was packing to return home for the holiday period not long ago:**_

_**"Miss Werendell?" Mrs Bottomley, a friendly classroom assistant poked her head through the door, which her other hand grasped her suitcase.**_

_**As she folded a uniform blouse back into her large bag, the small sixth grade child turned to her teacher. "Yes?"**_

_**"I have come to tell you that your parents have been inconvenienced and cannot pick you up, my dear," she smiled sweetly, although very pointlessly- smiling wasn't going to rectify the loneliness that awaited her over Christmas. Still, Eileen was yet to comprehend exactly what the situation was. "They have written to inform Headmaster Chaplin that you will be staying here over the holidays due to a variety of factors that mostly include business. I trust you will want to start unpacking. There will be a small gathering for the few students like yourself who are staying over the holidays at two, if you want to know who to hang out with during the holidays."**_

_**"…thank you, I'll do that. Really, thanks…" Eileen was dazed by the whole situation, but not surprised. The teacher swiftly left, humming carols down the hallway as she went. Truthfully, Eileen did not intend to befriend anyone else, as she knew she would want peace and quiet for the most part. But more than this, there would predictably be only two or three others staying, including her elder sister Orla in the eighth grade. As for her younger brother Bruce, she could barely begin to imagine the boredom he would experience alone at his boarding school elsewhere.**_

_**Eileen's friends were all very sympathetic but hardly offered any moral support. Each of them crowded her half-empty suitcase, cuddling her roughly, offering useless encouragement that Eileen in turn decided to tune out.**_

_**Tina cooed. "I'm sure it won't be that bad, Eileen," she flicked her bright blonde hair over her shoulder, her freckles rising with her grin. "You can always group chat us?" **_Somehow, I doubt I'll get much comfort in Internet communication, moron. Talking to you online isn't going to let me spend more time with a better family. And I always considered you to be my closest friend of the lot. How did I ever become friends with a dunce like you? I should probably take that back. Don't take your spite out on others...just leave them be and deal with your problems on your own like you usually do.

_**"Yeah," Eileen pathetically answered. "Sure, maybe…"**_

_**As she sat comfortably, sipping away at her drink, Eileen remembered how she couldn't possibly make any tears flow from the desertion, as it really didn't surprise her. For the entirety of her life as a middle child, she had very little time with her parents. They had proceeded to be absorbed deep within their business to have taken any notice of either of the three siblings, but notably Eileen herself. In fact, she realized she barely knew either of siblings as well.**_

_**Orla was a keen dancer and an extraordinary one at that. She had a thin, tall build, much taller than Eileen and was incredibly flexible allowing her to perfect her craft. Bruce was no sporting expert, much like herself, but he found his true abilities in mathematics, becoming a young mathlete competitor for his respective private school. Apart from these defining qualities, she often struggled to remember their birthdays, and personal things since she was always separated from her home family.**_

_**Much of her childhood was spent with her Uncle Damon at his personal mansion. He was indeed extremely wealthy like her parents, yet he was unlike her family; he was an ordinary, grateful human being. He was never fond of her siblings and noted them to be snobby brats: while Eileen couldn't agree completely, she was appreciative that at least one member of the family valued her above everything else, and it made her feel special. At times, she even went as far to believe that he was a surrogate father and mother to her. During the summer, she would visit and listen with great interest to his excellent knowledge of recipes.**_

_**Particularly as a toddler, she would watch with awe as he fried fish with such style and would decorate the dish with an extensive range of exotic herbs and spices. At nighttime, he would read her an array of different stories from poetry to horror, to factual information. All stories that she took on board with equal importance.**_

_**As she grew older, he began to realize she was growing out of this, so instead he would engage with her by taking her out fishing; going bird watching; recreating small scientific experiments in his personal laboratory. Over time, she developed a vast amount of different equally strong talents- none dancing or strictly intelligent, but brilliant and useful. With his encouragement, Eileen grew interested in engineering.**_

_**Underneath her unmade bed that she laid upon, was a box of wrapped gifts. Deciding it would be best to endure a last look at them before Christmas came in the next few days. It would distract her from the sad thought that not even Uncle Damon had decided to pick her up.**_

_**Inside the box were five gifts. A small box with gold wrapping laced with a silver bow was a present for her mother she had intended to give: it contained a generic necklace. Her mother had never actually cared for jewelry, but the constraints of having spent virtually no time with her mother, she knew she would just appreciate the fact she bought her a present. A much thicker present wrapped in a regal white with a small label was yet another leather notebook for her father's incessant note taking and things he might need for his oh-so important business. Eileen shuddered as she moved it out of the way, avoiding the reminder that he parents were never around. Underneath, were two small bags for her siblings. One contained some posh make-up her sister had be yelling about once in the cafeteria, and inside the other was an expensive, vintage maths set for Bruce. To be honest, she would have rather spent her allowance on much more self-indulgent items: more books, shoes, a fancier pair of glasses, etc. She would have done so had she known the exact extent of her parent's negligence towards her.**_

_**She found out that her siblings were taken back home when she went to deliver her sisters present one morning two days before. She hadn't realized before as she had decided to avoid meeting with whomever else was staying, and found out when she knocked on her sister's door to find no answer.**_

_**"Excuse me," Eileen politely asked one of the attending ladies who was passing by. Eileen frustrated, ball fists began to sweat nervously, dampening the strap of the gift bag she was holding. "Have you seen my older sister, Orla? I haven't seen her at any registration or anything…"**_

_**The woman glanced down at her keyboard and shook her head. "She's not put down as staying here over Christmas, sweetie,"**_

_**"What?" Eileen said allowed, mostly to herself. It came out as a gasp if anything and it made her realize that her parents had well and truly deserted her. "Bye!" She called hurriedly and she raced back up to her own dormitories. They were empty, all beds made except her own.**_

_**Eileen could do nothing but weakly fall on the laminated floor next to her bed, clinging to the covers, and a pool of angry tears swelled the blanket up. She didn't care about her parents this deeply, but it was then that she truly began to understand how little her parents thought of her. She always thought that her parents would care for her if they had time, but they had forgotten her. She was neglected, a pitiful little girl wrapped in a knitted jumper with a kitten on: but at this point, all innocence and meager hope of her family noticing her, the smallest shreds that had survived the long run to that pivotal moment face, faded. She was well and truly done with her poor excuse for a set of parents. **_

_**Needless to say, the fifth gift was for her uncle, but he didn't receive it on time.**_

_**Eileen spent Christmas that year practically alone, even without her uncle, and in a state of wallowing self-pity that which she swore she'd never return to. It might've been worse if it wasn't the first time she'd had to be her own friend.**_

* * *

The camp had managed to clear themselves out in good time, and eventually made it into the small area where the shops were located. Some building were already rummaged through, some of the doors left open. The others were unaware that some of this decoration was Rick's doing in an attempt to bring Carl out of hiding.

They walked passed the corner shop on the way and each took in useful items that Michonne and Sasha could not carry alone.

When the reached the center meeting point, the group paused to see Rick pacing about muttering to himself, Daryl not far behind him ushering him to move along with the group. The gravel was stained with tonnes of walker blood, as well as a small pile of them outside a small building to his left. Without thinking, he dropped everything but his weapons and raced towards the door. The group were powerless to stop the desperate father.

Following suit, they found a slightly unhinged entrance to a dentistry practice. There was a cabinet next to the door inside, in an angular position as though it might have been moved recently. Further along the entrance area was a small tower of text books.

Maggie stepped forward eager to see why Rick was so interested in this place. Before she could even step food in the place, she almost slipped on a line-up of ammo left loose at the door frame.

"Hey guys," she picked it up. "I recognize this ammo. Do any of you? We could use it for one of our guns?"

Michonne sniffed. "...I don't think we've got the right gun, Maggie."

"Yeah. We did have, but not on us anymore." Abe nodded.

Edging to face them all, Rick's eyes focused in on the ammunition and felt weak at the knees. He fell side ways and clung to his knees whimpering. Eugene hid himself defensively behind Glenn.

Maggie ran over to his side. "Rick!" She tried to shake his shoulders but he was in hysterics. "C'mon just breathe, Rick,"

Just before the door way, was a small, dried puddle of wax. Daryl was able to recognize the substance by sniffing it. It was a little wet from the sunlight, but otherwise firmly onto the ground. It would have to have been recently put in that position, since it was an unusual place to find a wax dripping as fresh as this one.

"Why's he doing that?" Noah asked. He was shoved gently out of the way by Michonne carrying a duffle bag filled with bottled water.

"That's the ammo Carl had...," she said stifling sadness that she was hit with. The boy had dropped a bunch of ammo. Yet not one of the bodies around the area was his. And all of them had injuries to the head of some sort which must have ended their lives. She was much quieter when presenting this information to the group, as she was struggling to maintain leadership and instruction. Carl's disappearance was proving to be a large emotional drain on her. She dropped the bag next to Rick, and felt his forehead, before handing over a bottle of water and asking him to sip some.

Maggie helped him sit up, as his trembling lips gulped the fluid. "...he's g-gone..." his mouth dribbled half the water he was trying to consume onto the dentist carpet. "Carl's not here...M-Mic-Michonne..."

"Alright, alright," she shook his shoulders in a motherly way. "Drink up. You're boiling, Rick. You need to get a hold of yourself. You can't be delirious when we find him, can you?"

For the first time in a while, something of resented glazed his eyes for a short moment when talking to Michonne. "You don't know that!" He barked at her.

"I do know that!"

"How?"

Looking at him, hiding her hurt from his outburst, she explained. "Look outside Rick! Look at the bodies! None of them are Carl! You don't that those are Carl's ammo for certain. We lived in a world of a billion people, Rick. And think of the entirety of America! Those could have been anyone's ammo. And if they are Carl's then think about it this way; they're all pretty much busted on the ground- someone's had to have finished them! And my bet's on Carl,"

"Your bet's as good a pigeon right now, Michonne," Abe laughed. "We don't know if the kid's alive. And you giving his old man false hope ain't doing anything to help his health either!"

"Listen, _Ford_." Michonne rose from her seat, and as she continued she addressed the whole group of survivors. "You're right, Abe. We don't know if Carl's alive. We'll never know until we either find a body, and find a living soul. And that's what this existence is! You don't get to chose who dies, but you can avoid it or aid it. And we can't just decide that we want to enjoy some water skiing or something because you don't get to do fancy things. If we weren't going to _try_ and find Carl, it's not like we would have done anything better. He's just a kid. A strong one, but still a kid. Now if you've got a problem with us searching for him, step away from the group now."

No one moved. A couple fidgeted nervously.

"Exactly!" Daryl shouted. "All of ya'll need to stop acting like children. So we had a good camp for a night or two. We have lost Carl, and you need to sit and have a good think about your morals if you're going to believe deserting a teenager, who is kinda likely to be alive, because you wanna be spoiled kids and have a comfy log to sleep on."

Michonne looked Rick deeply in the eyes before he nodded apologetically and rose to his feet. She was upset to find Sasha and Tyreese sharing worried glaces and swinging their guns to their front.

"What is it?"

"Look ahead," Tyreese swallowed. Walkers were headed their way.

The drooling beasts hobbled over to them, some with dentist masks on, and others in plain clothing. Their rotting flesh was revolting, the the group had grown immune to the decaying smell and each of them readied themselves in defensive stances. The walkers were all thin and covered in mossy materials; this made sense as they emerged from vegetative area down the road.

Tara had hold of Judith in a carrier between her feet, and was standing far back, surrounded by other members of the group ready to protect the child. Her gun was brandished and she threw her hair over her shoulder, beads of sweat dripping, as she fired the first bullet. It hit one square in the eyeball, knocking it over, it's bones squelching through it's own flesh from weakened tissue. In a vague attempt to save the child from growing up incorrectly, Tara had made sure that Judith was faced oppositely to the walkers and was playing with a small toy, unmoved by the sudden gun shots and grunts of those attacking the walkers. It was the least she could do for the toddler.

"Noah, take that side!" Glenn shouted, rounding the even larger group approaching.

"Will do!"

They ran speedily through the spaces between the walkers, jabbing them sufficiently in their foreheads to prevent the group from becoming over crowded to quickly.

Soon enough, many found they were losing ammo. However, at this stage there were very few walkers left. Rick took his gun and single-handedly crushed their skulls on his own, every blow fueled by aggression and sadness. He gave them all pointed looks, and wiped the blood off of his gun. He carried on ahead, the others joining him after a moment of relief.

* * *

Carl had helped himself to a chocolate bar he found lying about in the cottage. He tried his best to offer some to Eileen, but consistent as she was, she was still making conversation with him very minimal. She left him to his own devices in the living area before storming off in search of useful items.

_She makes me look too lazy_. He laughed to himself and she came through the living area giving him a glare, and then making her way upstairs.

"Carl!"

He reached for his knife. "What?"

"Batteries, can you look for some?"

"What for?"

"You refuse to let me call you a moron, let you continue to act like one. I have found an electrical applicant that could be of use to us,"

"Ooh, sounds good. What is it?"

She narrowed her eyes as she communicated from the top of the staircase. "I found a flashlight. Not much, but definitely more interesting then the candles. We need batteries so check around for them, and anything else useful."

He did as he was told, having compromised in order to share her weaponry. He continued jovial conversation, still determined to find out why she was so desperate to appear brave all the time. "So is this what you do all the time? Search through houses, eat, drink, sleep, and then move on?"

Eileen only dignified this question with a small noise before noisily moving about the bedrooms of the household.

"We can't take the entire house with us all the time, Eileen,"

"If we weren't looking for your dad, _Grimes_, then I wouldn't be so..." her voiced trailed off as she busied herself, but re-emerged after a short time. "Radical about supplies. But as it is, you asked me to help, and I am, so we need to make better use of our time then trying to be friends."

_If I didn't know any better I'd consider that to be insulting. I am trying my absolute hardest to be friends with that paranoid girl and she won't have any of it. _

"I'm going to check outside. I think there was a well..." he called to her, making his way to the back door. He wasn't lying, and he really did understand the desire for more water, but he also longed for some space from the demanding girl.

She approved with a noise, and carried on with what she was doing.

Eileen was going through her usual procedures. Ticking a day off of her calender; searching for fresh underwear and clothes; helping herself to some food; using some of her bottled water along with some odd peppermint body wash she found to scrub herself clean; applying a tad of deodorant at the bottom of her bag; having a drink; reading from anything she could find; having a moment to reflect; and then, the newest addition to her routine, go to join Carl. It wasn't often that she allowed herself a wash as nice as the one she had, though new water on the horizon meant some could be spared for once.

Just as she jumped to find Carl, she changed her plans, and brought some of the unused wash water to a bedroom, presumably a man and wife's. He reached into the closet and tore out some adaptable men's underwear and clothes for Carl, hoping that one day he might heed her health procedures. She folded them up, with a bit of soap from their bathroom and the water and placed it on the living room table before joining Carl in the garden.

_He's actually making use of himself for once, the moron! _

She found him inspecting a pail of water he had drain from the well. He appeared to be happy which indicated the water was potentially usable.

"Try holding it in a see-through container up to the light to see just how clean it really is..." she crossed her arms, examining the water herself, dressed in a new t-shirt and thin running trousers.

"Shut it." He grumbled. _You can quit trying to be a know-it-all now, Eileen. You've already shown how big-headed and stubborn you are by not talking to me almost all day. Come to think of it...why are you talking to me? Probably all smug because you came up with something before I would have. _"I was going to, _Werendell_."

"I got you some clothes if you ever feel like doing what I do...there's a bit of water to wash yourself with too. Do hurry up and decided if you will though, because I'm still not used to your foul stench, and I would quite like to drink the rest of it." She walked off, her boots scraping along the gravel.

_Nope! We're moving out in a bit to find my Dad- you signed up for it!_

_You wish I would listen. But no, not today. You don't get to 'make decisions' for me today._

* * *

**Thanks for taking the time to read. **

**I hope you enjoyed the tension between Carl and Eileen...there's much more of it to come. **


	10. Nightmares and Delirium

The next week was spent trudging about in partial silence, often stopping to argue or disagree. It became quickly apparent that Eileen and Carl were unlikely companions and would have avoided each other if it weren't for Eileen rather recklessly deciding that she had to search for him in the first place.

Sadly, the two of them could co-operate extremely well and often admired each other's survival qualities; but with regard to their personalities, they found each other to be painfully irritating. There was Eileen with persistent critique and her inability to strike up a friendly conversation without being stroppy and shady. And there was Carl who always wanted to investigate every single abnormality in houses- any questionable noises were an invitation for adventure it seemed, and Eileen resented his ability to put himself in unnecessary danger. She also found that he was often cocky and sometimes showed signs of inner aggression that scared her, but she would never tell him that.

They settled themselves in a barn having obtained enough water from the well a week before, the sun setting slowly in the distance. Carl was growing more aggravated with Eileen as the weeks went on, an unfathomable change in behavior given she barely spoke to him, but part of him attributed this to his growing doubt about finding his father. He wanted to rethink his ideas and travel back in the old direction, but he didn't want to consider himself as wrong. At the beginning of his search, he was almost certain his father was searching for him, but a week later and little fragments of this hope were being chipped away. There was some left however which drove him to continue on.

Inside there barn were strips of hay, some of which spattered in mysterious blood, and the walls were stained. Eileen made her opinion about the lack of security very clear- that she would much sooner reside in a household for the night- but Carl was adamant that the area was secluded enough to avoid any attacks. His refusal to move was due to a draining of energy he developed when earlier that day, they spent a couple of hours trying to avoid a herd of walkers. He contemplated this being another reason why Eileen had said very few words: he considered that she was shocked by the heavy amounts of danger he had got her into recently.

_She complains about me all the time, and constantly tells me off, yet there's never been a good enough reason for her to stop hanging around so I must be doing something right. If she was really that bothered she's clever enough to have just moved on. But like the dentist incident- she just felt compelled to come and get me, and I feel like I have to work together with her just because of this unspoken bond. It sounds weird. There are moments where I reconsider our unhealthy relationship and see glints of happiness. Maybe this is wishful thinking. As appealing as the idea is, I can't just abandon her. She seems capable, sure. Every house we stop in, she gets me new clothes even though I refuse to wear them. She's always making good use of resources, and sometimes she does offer a cheerful statement or two. It still puzzles me whether this constitutes as friendship or not? I need to stop over-thinking this, she not an evil witch or anything. She helps me and I help her. I need to stop worrying about it, she's allowed to think whatever she wants of me, I just need to focus on my Dad…Dad. Where is he? Stop it. I bet he just got caught up with Judith or something. It'd be nice to see them soon._

"I'm heading out." Eileen mumbled, grabbing her bag and the recently sterilized knife she used to threaten Carl when they first met.

He laughed. "Yeah right. No you're not. It isn't safe-"

"You're not in charge, _Grimes_." She bit back. "I am…going out for a bit. Stay here-"

"Since when were _you_ in charge either?"

"I'm not. But we'll both lose each other if we both head out. We need to keep the barn occupied. Unless you are incapable of watching an empty barn?"

He glared back at her. "No, I'm perfectly capable. Haven't you left yet?"

Eileen gritted her teeth together and slowly peeled open the barn door, making sure she didn't turn back to face Carl who watched her leave with annoyance.

_Where does she think she's going? She could at least tell me. What if she gets hurt and I'm stuck taking care of this skanky barn forever…? Okay, maybe that won't happen. I don't care if she gets hurt. Or do I? No- she's the one making the stupid decision to go out on her own without me anyway. Although, now that I think about it, she was healthy and alone when I met her, so I guess she might be alright. There didn't seem to be any walkers about._

A sudden bang made hit shoot up. He rushed outside to see Eileen using a mallet to bash away at a loose plank of wood from the barn. His panic seemed to be misplaced, and while he wondered why she was doing it, he put it down as a release of anger, and left her to be alone.

* * *

The sun was just barely still setting when Eileen sat in a pile of leaves and twigs fiddling with the plank of wood, a large log she found, and a few sticks: she was constructing a figure four dead-fall trap. Truth be known, she was actually starving but had learnt the hard way since the apocalypse happened that whining about hunger won't get you the food you crave. The trap was tricky. It required steady hand movement, and given that Eileen never truly slept with complete content, her hands were sometimes shaky. Her eyes could glaze over with fatigue at any moment. She ignored her tiredness and pushed on with the making of the trap.

_Now, carve a dent into two of the sticks…stick it in the ground and lean the others on it…I wish I had a rock, the log might not be enough…ah well, just lean it on the plank of wood over the other sticks. Hopefully by mid-morning tomorrow, they'll be a rabbit at least. An ant would make a nice supper to be honest. I'd search for worms but it'll get dark soon so I won't waste time doing that._

Before she set up the trap, she raced about with her back, making sure to get appropriate exercise, without exerting all of her energy, while chasing a squirrel. There was a point in the hunt where she was so close to nailing it to the tree trunk, but she slipped and threw the knife just above its head in time for it to run off. The slingshot she made a while ago was still intact, yet it needed vast improvement. Besides, there were very few birds to prey on, and she only had one stone in her bag.

After setting up the trap, she took time to sit and behold it. Yes, she was incredibly hungry and longed for something to be caught, but it didn't stop her from leaning against a nearby tree staring at the trap.

She remembered when her uncle taught her how to make it. Her parents always thought it was very middle-class to join the girl scouts or something to learn these skills, so her uncle found ways of giving her the skills she wished to have growing up. It made her realize just how unbearable life was without her uncle. She had absolutely no knowledge of his whereabouts, and despite her virtually empty stomach, she felt like being sick at the fact she was too selfish to look for him. He wouldn't have wanted her to; he would have liked to know if she was okay, though he would have respected her will to live and may well have ended up sacrificing himself for her eventually. It killed her inside to know that she was heartless enough to not even look back for her uncle. At least she didn't have to worry about seeing him…dead.

Sometimes she felt like a monster: like she had no emotions for anyone. Understandably, she was trying to avoid any traumas and conflict. Had she substituted no violence for becoming a recluse bordering sociopathy? It made her shiver sometimes, and other times she thought nothing of it. That's what made her question whether she was okay or not.

A little tear forced itself from the ducts of her eyes. Eileen swiftly swatted it and sniffed.

_Grow up. You'll die if you act like a child. Am I allowed to cry? Maybe I need to. But I won't. I won't let myself. God, just get your ass back to the barn and stop thinking about your family. It's not like you'll see them ever again anyway- and you know very well that you probably don't care. You never cared for them too much anyway. I shouldn't say that. Forget it. Back to the barn._

With her knife at hand, and her gun in her pocket, she walked back to the barn, head faced forward with a steely look about her. She was impassive. It her mechanism for trying to forget everyone she once knew, as it would just cause her to become distracted. She'd spent enough time moping about.

By the time, she arrived back, it was fairly dark out and she slipped back into the barn. She noticed Carl was carving something into the wall with a flint.

She said nothing but came over to study it. He heard her enter but was in no mood to speak to her as she left without explanation.

**Dad (Rick) this is Carl. I hope your okay. As well as Judith and others. I am still alive an-**

"You are aware you need an apostrophe in there, right?" She remarked monotonously. He mumbled something inaudible about her being annoying and corrected himself in the word '_you're_'.

**-and I have supplies, so don't worry. I am trying my best to look for you but if you're reading this and I'm not with you then you know that it hasn't quite happened yet. I saw a house a while back with some toys and supplies for Judith in. Please make sure you put Judith first. **

"Judith is my sister," he said quietly.

"And she's a toddler?"

"Yes."

She was unable to hide her surprise. "How is she still alive?"

This struck a nerve and he turned around and stood up. He was definitely getting taller and towered over her by a fair bit. "She's alive because we care about her. And because...because of other things. Since you don't feel like talking about anything, don't expect jack from me." He threw the flint on the floor and made his way to the top of the barn.

_Am I supposed to go an comfort him? I probably should. I just don't feel like telling him things yet. We're not exactly friends as such. I don't even deserve to know anything he's already told me. I'm not stupid, I know I've bothered him. He trusts me though, and at this stage, I guess I would be willing to consider our companionship as being defined by some sort of mutual trust... not quite friendship or anything...but almost there...he hasn't killed me or anything yet. _

Rather reluctantly, she followed him up to the top of the barn.

"What?" He snapped. "Why can't you just stop criticizing me all the time? If that's what you've come here to do the feel free to go away as soon as it is most convenient to you." It was a little snarky, but she knew she deserved it.

"I don't know what happened to your sister. I wasn't trying to be bitchy. I was actually impressed-"

"-well, thank Heavens!" he scoffed. "Thank Heavens that you approve of my family's decisions."

She remained calm. "I didn't mean it that way. I just meant that I guess I was happy for you."

"If you stopped trying to act like you didn't care about anything all the time, then that message might've gotten across to begin with!"

"I had siblings too Carl!"

"_Had_. Look at yourself! You don't even look remotely sad about the fact you _'had_' siblings. I don't think you appreciate anything accept your own existence. And _don't_ try to bring up the fact you saved me, I've thanked you loads for that. You chose to do it. It doesn't make you an expert, it doesn't mean you have feelings, it makes you human. Honestly though? I doubt that you're one hundred percent human." He faced away from her.

_He obviously thinks I am a monster. I'm not though, I can't be. I don't mean to not appear sad, and I doubt he would understand anything about my life! I am sad, of course, I just happened to have dealt with things more smoothly. I'm not scared... I don't have time to be. Do I?_

She restrained herself from arguing with the nonsensical, emotionally drained boy. She couldn't hold back her thoughts though. "Why do you say that?"

"You just don't get it, do you?" he whispered. "We've had one or two nice conversations. You'd think if you were a good person that you'd trying and be nice to the only company you have, but you're always on edge. You never relax!"

"Relax?"

"Yeah!"

"Okay, so I just relax. So I don't wash for a while, like you. I get smelly. I get ill. I get hungry. I get thirsty and I bite the dust because I'm not allowed to spend my days caring about myself?"

Carl nodded. "Not like that. You always have to boss me about like you know best. You're allowed to relax and let someone befriend you, but no. Instead, you call me a moron all the time. You have no respect for me. I try to care about you, but I don't know whether its worth my energy. And the worst bit about it all? I am trying to find my Dad and sister in a world of reanimated corpses, and I still put in the effort to be friends with you. You won't even apologize so just forget it. Sorry I ranted at you." He turned himself completely around to face the wall and she stepped back to see him curling up into a ball of what seemed to be despair.

_You're right, I'm not apologizing for caring about myself! Carl looks like he's struggling though. He cares about me? _A certain warmth spread through her, brightening her equally stressed and aggravated emotions. The feeling was for the most part foreign.

_Maybe I have been a bit bitchy. It's just hard. He makes things hard himself. I don't want to become friends with someone and then watch a zombie lunch on their eyeballs. Although I've never seen this close up, I doubt it would look pretty and it might be quite scarring to see it. So I don't think it is completely wrong of me to want to avoid company. It just gives fate more opportunities to screw up your sanity... apparently it's too late for that. He obviously wants me to be his friend, he's just going to have to give me time. _

Eileen coughed. "You're upset about things. Personal things. I don't know exactly how you plan to deal with them. I usually just ignore my problems. If you need to talk about anything...I guess I can try to listen." She was putting in her best effort to not make an attachment she'd regret. The inevitability of their friendship was arguably inescapable, if she was true to herself. Things were often too good be true though, and she found herself consumed by dormant bitterness once more. "...so long as you have enough energy worth being used to speak to me."

Carl closed his eyes and listened to her speaking to him. Her voice was filled with something like false sympathy. If not false, then definitely forced. At least he had a brief idea about her family life now, however small it was. _Maybe she and I are both just mad because of hunger. It definitely isn't my Dad. I know I'll find him eventually. _He answered her statement with a stiff nod. _At least she's trying something friendly for a change. _

On that note, Eileen took her bag and laid uncomfortably at the top of the barn, listening to the owls and cultivating the palpable tension between the two of them.

* * *

It was a tough day of work for Luca Freund. One might argue that paper administrations was a fairly easy job. What they wouldn't account for though would be the looming disaster of working for his own mother. He loved her, and yet he often found himself fearing her. He could no longer listen to music whilst her worked to cheer himself up.

He hadn't ever seen a rotter himself close up. He had virtually no experience of killing them. He just knew his dad met a terrible fate because of them, and his mother had very quickly moved on. She was now in a relationship with one of the men that worked there called Mark, and Luca was very clear that wanted nothing to do with it. He assumed that if he just met the demands of his mother and ignored the constant butt-kissing of his older sister, he might just get by without any issues.

According to what his mother told him, the purpose of his mother's business was simple; there were a few scientists and military professionals working alongside one another to find a cure. The files severed the part of documenting the survivors they took in. When he was given the 'honor' (as it was described) by his mother of working in the files department, he was informed that the building simply took in survivors and revived them, and in return, should they not make it, they would be used for research. Though Luca wanted to trust his mother, he had long since been suspicious of the place's true activity, as unlike the other staff, he and his sister were never allowed to read the files. It made him question the real purpose of survivors.

Whenever he thought about this, he always forced himself to conclude that his mother was just so generous and caring that she would serve meals to strangers, and provide so many with accommodation. When he was younger, he always thought that she was rather mean.

"Brother dearest," his joyful sister Jasmine sung from the entrance of the door. "Mother said we are permitted a break as we are having dinner. Put on some more appropriate clothes though, please. It is a private dinner as usual. Just us, Mother, and Mark," she walked away, her green knee-length dinner dress flowing behind her as she headed for dinner.

Luca was sure to tidy up the piles so they were presentable when he returned after dinner. Shifts were typically until ten o'clock in the evening.

When he had found himself a suit, he settled himself in his family's private dining area. He always hated the tradition of dressing up for dinner. He had decided that it was a symbol of their family's power in that building. Their power to save lives. It was almost a monarchy. They were the royals, and the others were loyal workers and civilians. It was sad and he was never comfortable this way. To say so would be suicide, so he kept quiet for the three years the place had been running.

The dining area consisted of maroon colored walls and a large, shiny black table. It extended across the room, with four singular seats at opposite ends, making sure that each member of the family were at long distances from each other. This was the only part of the dinner that Luca delighted in- it meant he wouldn't have to sit through much of the small talk as it was hard to communicate at all.

"So, children, how has your day been?" Mark asked, picking up his food with extreme care. He was a devastatingly tall man, with bushy eyebrows and thick brown hair. His muscles outweighed Luca's by a tenfold, and he always has a stern look that frightened everyone, except Valerie, silent.

Trying her best to appear sensible and suitably happy, Jasmine answered. "Excellent thank you...Dad." Their mother had talked to them once demanding they forget their father. He was a brilliant man, but their mother shared no feelings for him even before his demise and wanted them to call their step-father, 'Dad'. Although she wished to please her mother, who she looked up to greatly, Jasmine still struggled to do this. "We got an awful lot of work done."

Luca didn't care for Mark and made it very obvious, without causing any trouble. He didn't reply at first.

"Answer, Luca." His mother scolded. "Your father is trying to talk to you." This stung.

"Fine, thank you." He said, without emotion.

It was at least half an hour before much else was said. The plates were cleared by one of their staff. Their mother expected them to stay at the table until they were dismissed for work again.

Valerie spoke first. "I think I would like to reward my hardworking darlings with an early break. You must go to your bedroom chambers as soon as you clean up your work spaces. And Luca," he looked up to see her sickly sweet smile. "You are permitted to use half an hour of power to listen to music, if you wish."

"No thank you, mother. I think I shall just sleep."

He did sleep, but found himself falling from nightmare to nightmare, reliving the rotten year they had spent without the building for safety. It was a repeating pattern of remembering just how starving he was, to just how scared he was, to remembering how nauseous he felt seeing one of his mother's construction workers being skinned by the rotters from a distance. It was all just screams and redness. He hated to imagine what horrors all the survivor's they took in had seen.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed the development of Carl and Eileen's relationship, and the deeper look into Luca's life. **

**Thank you for taking the time to read, and perhaps review :)**


	11. The World Is A Graveyard

A week had passed since Rick stormed off ahead in search of is son, and as much as the group hated to remind him, they were yet to have such luck as finding him.

"If he's alive, he's going to be miles away," Noah whispered to Tara by a small fire the two of them had constructed. Whilst talking to her, he occasionally looked around to check where Rick was, and every time he looked Rick was hidden in the corner with Judith in his lap staring absent-mindedly at the infant. "It's been a week. Surely the kid would have just returned to our group if he was still around?"

Tara winced at the lack of hope Noah had. "You shouldn't say that!"

He narrowed his eyes. "Why? It's true."

"...Even so. Rick's a sensible man. He's made all these decisions so far. He probably has some sort of father's intuition that Carl is alive, else he would have stalked off alone and apologized for inconveniencing us. He wouldn't put us in danger if he knew he wasn't alive."

"Tara, if he knew he wasn't alive, he shouldn't be looking for him at all! Alone or with us!"

She hissed back. "It doesn't matter, Noah!"

"Yeah, yeah it does! Look...I get it. He lost his kid. But we're a day or two away from losing more lives through exhaustion. I know, things have been tough about Beth and all, but even if Carl did return to where we were, we're not there anymore!" Noah looked over once more at Rick, who seemed to stir a little at Noah's raised voice. He returned to whispering. "It's a lost cause."

"This isn't like you, Noah," Tara said sadly. "Since when have you been out of hope? You escaped the hospital!"

"Yeah, I did! And Beth didn't. It's a lost cause. I say this because I care...I did believe, but at what point will we all wake up from that dream?"

She sighed and stood up. "Just leave it, Noah. No one's listening...except maybe Abe. You're just as bad as Eugene."

He was left alone, his almost frozen hands wavering in front of the embers warming themselves up. Deep down, he really did feel sympathy for Rick and at first, really felt there was a chance for Carl. There was a chance for him, and he was quite young. Things just seemed a bit hopeless and they were losing with whatever decision they made: they could go on, and Carl could be back where they lost him; they could go back, but Carl be too far ahead; or they could just keep wandering everywhere in hope of finding whatever remains of him. Either way, in Noah's mind, it was not sensible to convince themselves he was still alive. At least not until they had concrete proof of it. Angry Rick scared him, and setting him up for disappointment screamed 'looming disaster'.

Meanwhile, Maggie kissed Glenn on the cheek and the two of them looked at the stars hanging above. "Are you worried?"

Automatically, he assumed this was about Carl and proceeded to give her a smile that radiated confidence and encouragement, something she knew she could rely on from Glenn. He was positive most of the time, and while he didn't have a massive relationship with Carl, his awareness of the boy's abilities left him to feel nothing but certainty he was alive. However, part of him convinced himself he was only thinking this to avoid thinking otherwise.

"No, I'm not worried about him."

"Sweetie," she said, seriously. "I care about Carl, but that's not what I meant. What I was asking was, are you worried this won't end?" She lifted her hands to her surrounding environment, a display of the majority of the group settling down for food and water.

"Worried? Try frightened." He corrected, laughing a little to ease concern. "Someone, somewhere, is going to sort this all out. I'm sure of it. It's the aftermath that scares me the most."

"I see what you mean. Repopulating the world, trying to cope with everything lost. The world is a graveyard."

"And society is destroyed. All culture, ruined. I mean, we don't know what's going in...let's say, India. But you can bet that it's a hell hole like this dump."

"Culture's gone. Religion is gone. It'll be new world," Carol overheard and brought over some water. She handed it to the couple before sitting down before them. "I'm different. I don't care about Ed anymore. I should, even if he was abusive. But I don't. We've become a new breed of devolved human being, if that makes sense. Whoever survives was obviously meant to survive. We don't know if this was planned all along."

Glenn smiled. "You've changed since the start. We don't get our family from before. What happens after? Will we just go back to being strangers again?"

"No," Maggie declared. "Ain't no way that's happening. We're each other's family now. We came across each other, so it was meant to be."

"What if it wasn't?" Glenn asked. "What if we'd never got into this mess? What if just one thing could have changed it. I'd have never met any of you, ever."

The three of them gave each other sad smiles. Carol congratulated the two of them. "You can't turn back now. This is who we are, where we are, and you two ought to be thanking whatever caused this, else you two wouldn't have been so lucky." She winked at the young couple, before walking away to the others, her gun swinging from behind.

* * *

**Two of them rounded on Eileen; yellowing clothes, gnashing teeth, stinking worse than death. It had been about three years since the apocalypse struck the Earth and the poor 14 year old girl was running about alone. Her glasses were falling from her sweaty face, her cut lip stinging with the interference of the few tears that dribbled across her cheeks. At this stage she had one gun and the same knife, and hadn't drunk anything for a long time. Her energy levels were disastrously low.**

**Physically, she was still quite small having not grown for a while. Over time, her fitness vastly improved and so she could run much further. But, as her speed started to decrease, the zombies were nearing. Their growls louder and stench stronger. In the middle of the forest, escape was already pointless to ask for as twigs and uneven ground were practically laughing in the face of steady running; the leaves sneered at her exhausted form limping and scraping through her existence for the will to continue.**

**_I'm going to trip over and die. It's obvious. It happens to everyone and now it's my God forsaken turn. I've got to try and avoid it somehow though. I'm not giving up that easily- I think I'm a bit to young to find out what being eaten alive feels like._**

**She simply refused to use the gun and make things worse than they could have been.**

**It took lots of hidden strength, but she latched herself onto a promising tree and tried climbing it. It was definitely worth a try, since the girl had already been in countless close calls for the entire three years that the dead had risen for. If she could escape before, even without hope, could she do it again?**

**The tree bark was ripping at her already weakened clothes and soon tore little bits of skin from her wearing knees. It was not enough to stop her. Her tears were soundless yet persisted to pour down her face. Unlike the times before- unlike when she was deserted at Christmas time- she wasn't filled with self-pity anymore. She wasn't filled with confidence either, but she believed in herself.**

**Grasping onto a higher branch for life, she heaved herself up; her bag still over her shoulder, kneecaps bleeding ever so slightly. Her feet trailed up after her body, the boots pulling bits of bark off with the friction. The violent rustling of leaves below indicated that her pursuing zombies were at the bottom, just over an arm's length from touching her feet. She reached up moments from safety.**

**Her foot slipped.**

**_Think fast. DO SOMETHING, YOU IDIOT!_**

**When falling, she latched on and swung herself around to the other side of the thin tree. She absorbed the impact of the partially wet mud and used the energy to fuel movement. Her vision was hazy when she realized that her glasses were peaking beneath the leaves a meter away, shattered and snapped in half. Lack of sight was the beginning of things getting more brutal then she could fathom.**

**Both zombies wobbled above her, unidentifiable drool falling from their reeking mouths just onto her neck. Their torn arms lunged for her, but she pulled herself back doing nothing except sobbing as she skimmed the floor further away from them. Alas, they kept coming forward.**

**_You've got to use the gun. I don't want to. You've got to use the stupid gun. I DON'T WANT TO. WHY DON'T I JUST DIE, HUH?_ _Irrational, you moron. You deserve to live. Use the gun, and get away to wherever you can. If you still don't make it, then this was how you were meant to die. At least try it-_**

**One fell next to her, its teeth less than a few inches from her naked shoulder. She kicked it, moaning in agony from the dreadful landing. And finally, as it maneuvered its jaw to take a chunk from her pallid flesh, she blasted it just about the skull with a bullet. It wasn't a clean kill; good enough though. A second bullet fired and got the second one up through the right-hand side of its jaw. It fell back a bit, allowing space between them and this was enough to get Eileen up and moving.**

**_You've been too close way too many times, Eileen. Stop playing about. _**

**Very quick breaths pierced the air around her and resonated from her own aching mouth. The cuts in her trousers drew some blood that had dried in the time it took for her to outrun the second zombie.**

**_I used the gun. I have to move. I have to hide. _**

**Eileen found herself almost side-stepping her way down an empty road until she reached a lone, small family house at the side. She would use this as shelter for the time being. As she stared up at the safe house, she wiped her face with the only section of her vest that had yet to be covered in thick blood or mud. Despite her pathetic quality of vision, she had yet to see someone or something move past a window inside.**

**_Don't be fooled. It's too early for relief just yet._**

* * *

The sun rose shortly after Eileen and Carl had made themselves comfortable at the top of a barn.

Throughout the night, they both slept uneasily, each drifting into slumber, while the other stirred out of it and sat there reviewing what their lives had come to. They would wake a little, check beneath them, and sleep again. Neither had dreams, but both contemplated the events of the quarrel they had. It was emotional, without each other divulging into their pasts. For Eileen though, it was an awakening. It came to her attention that she would only be the monster she thought she was, if she persisted to act that way. Instead she would try with the limited social skills she possessed to make amends with Carl. She was still adamant in her head that she needed act too rashly and outright befriend him, even if she doubted her ability to do so, but she realized that spending her days arguing with him would do nothing good for either of their mental health states. And if last night was any good indication, they both needed someone who understood them and their traumas. It would be a working progress indeed.

When the both mutually decided their day had began, Eileen had suggested Carl accompany her into the woods. Contrary to her usual behavior, she tried exceptionally hard to enjoy whatever small talk Carl made.

"Weather's not great today," he said.

"I know. It's pretty cloudy and humid." she said. It wasn't as painful as she predicated small talk would be. There was still some obvious tension, but being civil felt, as Carl was saying, _relaxing_.

"So, how did you sleep?" he asked.

"Good. As good as it's possible, anyway. You?"

"Yep. Same." There was a long pause as they trudged through the muddy woods. "...Eileen?"

She turned to face him, and for once, there was not one beacon of frustration in her eyes. Carl looked at her in shock of this new development, until she interrupted his stare.

"What?"

"Oh, um, I was going to ask...where are we going? I need to find my Dad."

Eileen took in a deep breath and became distracted. It was a sight to see- the girl, usually concentrated and determined, stood there speaking softly to herself checking about in search of something that Carl could see was not there.

He pressed for her attention. "Eileen!"

"Oh yes, sorry. I put a trap out here to catch food. I'm just retracing my steps." After she found a sense of direction, she ushered him to follow her until they came to a stop. "I was going to wait until this afternoon. After last night...I just thought you'd want to get started sooner, and I understand why."

The trap was holding a still moving rodent-like creature. As she predicted, her trap was faulty: the log she used on the plank of wood would not nearly be as effective as a stone in weight. It did however do its job and get them something to eat.

"Nice work," Carl said. Eileen handed him the clean knife and he bent down to put the creature out of its misery. He removed the knife and promptly picked up the animal. "...What is it?"

"Not sure. It's not a squirrel. Definitely not a rabbit or a rat. Might be a vole or something?" She touched the fur. "It's wet."

"Water vole?" he immediately grinned. "Means there might be a river about. You know how to purify water? I've got a couple of ideas..."

She gave him a weak smile. "Yeah. I can think of something too."

It was easy enough to undo the trap, and she left the twigs to bury themselves underneath leaves, but took the plank of wood and put it in her bag for later usage.

"...would you rather look for your dad? I am sure there is water somewhere else."

"It's fine. We've got all the time in the world...as long as we don't die."

Eileen started to walk off. "I've been close way too many times, Carl. We've only got whatever time we get ourselves."

They walked for approximately two hours before finding what upon first, appeared to be a lake. The sun, even with the very little heat it was giving out during that November month, still shone gloriously over the water-body. Shrubbery across the body was a delightfully fresh green colour and the slight cawing of a small flock of birds made the scene almost picturesque in those dark times. The two teens were awe struck the view. The water made them feel weak at the knees- so much of it was both breathtaking and made them dizzy. They could have spent ages finding it, but it they held hope that the gift of quenched thirst might be handed right over to them.

"Jackpot." Carl went for his on loot bag and grabbed an empty bottle- from the water she handed him when the met- and wandered over to the water. He breathed in the fresh air, and kneeled down. With one triumphant swoop, he captured the water and bottled in, holding the treasure protectively in his hands. Upon studying the substance, he noticed a filthy color. "This...it isn't good water."

"That's obvious, moron." Eileen joined him in observing the liquid. "I'm not too sure we could purify it anyway. This doesn't seem to be a proper lake."

"How do you know?"

"Observe," she stood up, Carl mirroring her actions, as she guided her hand across the view as if it were a diagram. "You'll notice there are very few plants right over there. As it gets nearer to us though, there are more in numbers and in different species. I don't pretend to be an expert, but I am fairly certain it is a marshland. You have to avoid marshlands."

"Oh," he said dumbly, undoing the bottle and releasing the water.

"Yeah, nice one. I should also inform you that until we can sterilize it, we can no longer use that bottle for safe water." She stared at him, trying hard not to show the anger that was boiling up. She understood that his rash behavior may have been an honest mistake. "It's fine, don't worry about it. I think...I guess that- um, I won't- er-" _He was able to work out where the water was just by knowing about the water vole. He's a reckless moron for the most part, yes, but maybe he won't be completely intolerable. _"I don't think I will find you annoying all of the time." _That was absolutely pathetic; you're the moron! So rude. Well, it's the closest he's getting to a compliment yet. _

He laughed with a frown. "Gee, thanks. Same goes for you. As long as you don't get in a strop with me for breathing, then I think we won't argue too much."

"Well excuse me, _Grimes_\- I mean, yeah...good to know?" She sounded as if she asked. "I mean, it is good to know." She straightened herself up and returned to her serious self.

Just as they made to leave, something caused the marsh to ripple more than a wisp of wind. It was arched over momentarily, before being joined by three others replicating its movements. Splashing about in the distance, the four figures moved again, and this time stood straight up. They tried desperately to move: the heavy absorption of water caused these figures to look bloated, but no less hungry than any other re-animated corpse.

"Walkers," Carl narrowed his eyes on the walkers, who were presumably stuck in the sediment beneath the water body. "We'll just leave 'em. They won't be catching up too soon." He thought back to Hershel's farm and how the walker killed Dale not long afterwards. This time he did not feel scared, and felt confident that he truly would never have to encounter those particular things again. Eileen nodded and walked alongside him.

"I wasn't lying when I said I had siblings, just so you know. I really did."

"I knew you weren't lying." _Is she trying to have a meaningful conversation with me? Do I join in by asking her more, or will that just provoke her into a short vow of silence again? Just be kind, I guess that can't hurt anyone. _"If you want to talk about it-" he felt her sub-consciously moving further to the side of him, her face turning stony once more. "-if you ever want to tell me how you feel, I'll be here to listen."

A stiff nod later suggested that the two of them were starting to make a connection that had been a long time in the making.

Winter was definitely coming on colder, and the two of them were aware that this could provide challenges that the two of them had not faced together before. As long as they could maintain civility with one another, perhaps things would turn out...safe.

* * *

**Thanks for taking the time to read. **

**Many Oranges :)**


	12. A Toast to Carl Grimes

"It's been over a week since we started searching, Carl-"

"You don't think I know that?" he screamed at her, his face distorting with aggression.

She stepped back allowing space between the two of them. "I'm just saying that if you want to try another direction, we can."

"Yeah, West. Let's move." He trudged ahead of Eileen who was beginning to feel anxious around the boy. He was missing his Dad and even though he had been very dismissive and unworried about the entire situation just days before, it appeared that he too was beginning to feel doubt.

She walked behind him, through the empty field, head down facing the grass. Since they were mislead by the water vole to the marsh, the two of them had managed to find a few unopened water bottles from a six-pack in the cupboard of a small village house. The area boasted several key locations for Carl and Eileen's survival: an apple tree, some carrots, and a church with tins for what would have been the homeless. The two of them lugged around what they could carry from their findings, and found themselves contently energized as they moved onward. This therefore, would not excuse Carl's graduating frustration.

Carl stopped in his tracks and turned to face Eileen with a scary expression. He quietly explained: "My Dad would not stop searching for me. He knows what bit I was in, and he probably would have dragged everyone there. Then he probably thought I went ahead without him, because I didn't return when I was supposed to, so he probably went onward like we did."

"...right?" _This is hopeless, we're probably not going to find his Dad. He should have just gone to where his group were staying, the moron. _

"So we need to keep going!"

"Are you sure? Maybe we've come too far ahead-"

"SHUT UP!" The boy cried, every other breath penetrated by a choking noise in the back of his throat. "IT'S _MY_ DAD- I...I know what I am doing. He's out here searching for me...I can feel it,"

She crossed her arms. "That's ridiculous. How can you feel someone looking for you? It's unscientific."

He was taken aback, overcome with rage. "WELL HE'S MY DAD, SO EVEN IF I DIDN'T KNOW, IT'S PRETTY LIKELY THAT HE AND OUR MASSIVE GROUP ARE DOING THEIR BEST TO COME AND GET ME! I'M SURE YOUR PARENTS WOULD DO THEY SAME!"

"...I-" Eileen stood back, struck silent. _Are they searching for me? Unlikely. If I hadn't left them myself they probably would have banished me from their presence. They'd have a well-reasoned argument for doing so too. _"-I don't know if they would Carl. They'd probably think I was dead if they hadn't found me for over a week." She replied with a solemn look about her, and as she walked off she held her chin high and made to take over the front. A moment later, a pensive breath elicited from Eileen's thin lips.

Behind her, Carl also shut himself up. _Maybe I shouldn't have said that, I don't exactly know her parents. And I know zilch about what my group think has happened to me. Maybe she should just- ah, I don't know. She's right, they do probably think I am dead, but I stand by what I think. I KNOW that they are looking for me. It's just the kind of thing my group does. I should apologize, shouldn't I? _

"Hey!" he said. "I'm sorry about that...I am just positive my Dad's looking for me, and I'll find him."

"Just forget it, it's fine." She bent down and began to construct a small trap again. "I think we should use that little hut over there for now," Eileen pointed at quaint little building. "I'm going to set up this and wait for a while. We need more meat in our lives. A vole three days ago isn't going to keep us alive."

They settled into the small structure very quickly, as there was very little inside of it. It was very hard to determine exactly what it was used for.

"Carl, I think we should have just stayed put. It was silly of us to move."

He thought about this. Frankly, it was right, but far too late to back track. Every time she heartless said things like this to inform him how unlikely it would be to find his group, it made his blood boil. He said nothing for a short while.

"My Mom is dead, Eileen." He sat himself down. "She died in childbirth; that is how my sister is alive. We had no anesthetics."

She pictured the ghastly and revolting sight of a woman giving birth: she envisaged a thin woman, short, with Carl's dark hair and rounded face like his own. The details of the woman did not matter though. The profound details of her shrill screams of silenced terror and blood pumped from her were what stuck to her mind. It was shocking to hear- unbelievable in fact- and terrifying. Eileen stared at Carl, wide-eyed unable to even comment.

"I had to shoot her to put her down. She told me to. She told me to shoot her. And we had to cut her open and take the baby out. She told me how much she loved me, and just hugged me before I shot at her head. I was ruthless, and I'll never recover from that."

"Carl..." She reached over hesitantly and placed a cold, trembling hand on his shoulder.

"I was a monster back then. I killed some kid just because he had a gun- I mean, HE PUT THE GUN DOWN FOR GOD'S SAKE!" He yelled. "I'LL NEVER RECOVER FROM THAT. WHAT ABOUT JUDITH, HUH? HER LIFE'S SCREWED. SHE WON'T HAVE EVEN KNOWN WHAT IT WAS LIKE TO BE NORMAL: KILLING PEOPLE WILL BE HER LIFE!" Streams of noiseless tears poured from his eyes. "AND I'M STILL A KID, AND I CAN'T FIND MY DAD! OR MICHONNE, OR DARYL OR ANYONE!" He pushed her hand forcefully away from him, her body losing balance and toppling to the side. Her wrist, now felt bruised and ached ever so slightly.

"Ouch..." she whispered, rubbing her wrist in hope of treating the pain. "You think I am stone cold and don't know how you feel but hear this, you have severely misjudged what I have also been through. Remember when I said I had siblings?" He nodded, curious to hear what she had to say. "Things got dark for my older sister Orla. She was hungry and she lost control. It's because of her that I have had to do monstrous things I don't even want to think about. But emotion is weakness so that's why I pretend I don't care. It made me realize that being with others is dangerous. Only trust yourself...and even that should be done lightly."

"What happened?"

Eileen did not feel ready to explain, yet she knew that it had taken all of Carl's energy to sit there and retell his mother's demise. It would only be fair for her to explain at least some of what happened.

"It was two years ago. I was with my...my _parents_...and we were shut up inside a business office or something. My older sister Orla, younger brother Bruce and I were left in there with some weapons while my absolutely useless parents risked their lives for us- Now, you have to understand that they were good people, just- j-just...er...difficult parents. They left us to find food that they knew was never going to be there. I knew it was never going to be there, but as their least prioritized thirteen year old child, they refused to listen to me, and they went anyway. They hadn't returned for ages. By then it got dark. My siblings and I had a weird relationship anyway, so I didn't really know much about them. I had to awkwardly take care of Bruce who was wailing as loudly as he could for some moronic reason. On the other hand, Orla was going insane. She was left in charge. Most of the food we had went to Bruce- he was the weakest of us, and was never very good at running. But Orla...she had a thick knife, and a thick hunger. And when I left the room for a moment... I heard a noise. I came back and found my brother lying dead with a mental looking Orla sneering and laughing like an animal. The knife went straight through his frail skin. My guess is that she wanted a larger cut of the rice and beans...either way, I shot her. She wasn't meant to make it, and she would've slaughtered us all if I hadn't done it."

"I'm sorry to hear-"

"-I'm not. I don't expect you to look at me the same way when I say this; I don't regret it because she was my blood. I only regretted it because it was the first undead person I killed. She deserved it. And I had to put my brother and her down."

He looked at her with understanding. _I don't think of you differently. I think of you as more traumatized than I had first expected, but not differently as a whole person. _"What about your parents?"

She scoffed. "They...weren't impressed with my 'murderous rampage', as they described it. I've already told you more than I wanted to. So stop crying, you're practically on good terms with a serial killer- that doesn't happen everyday," she laughed.

"You're not a serial killer."

She continued to smile. "_I _know that. But Mom and Dad couldn't understand what happened. I don't want to talk about it anymore...it makes me mad."

_And so she finally speaks up about her past. She's still a bit shifty about her parents, but her eyes illustrated just how remorseful she felt towards what had happened; it would be cruel to get her to say more at this present time. _

"I'm going...I'll check on the trap- I'll come back as soon as possible." She scurried off, trying to put the memories out of her mind. It had only been over a week and now she was with another person, reliving her past, and running about with the least amount of consideration she'd ever had. In her mind, she knew she was defying her own morals and vows and this annoyed her deeply, but in her heart, she was aware she just saved Carl from hurting her and doing something he might regret out of anger.

* * *

In the days spent travelling without meeting their objective, Judith was growing at an intense rate. She could walk alone now, but often complained in gargled versions of words. No singular member of the group could understand everything she was saying, and Rick felt guilty that he could not carry her: he was just too weak. Not just physically- he had no such as fining Carl and the group spent most of their time smashing skulls to even find evidence of his whereabouts.

Then of course, they still had Eugene. He wanted to kill him inside. Conversely, his brain had chosen otherwise. He agreed with Daryl that they should drop him off somewhere. But where? Eugene was arguably the smartest of the group in terms of his IQ points, and therefore he offered technical skills that they might need one day. On the emotional side of things, he found himself feelings such strong hatred that it surpassed hatred itself. Apart from occasionally catching the smart-guy in his peripheral vision, Rick Grimes had decided that rather than being literally dead, his was dead to him in a metaphorical sense. Any attempts to apologize were futile and bluntly ignored. He wouldn't talk to him at all. And when they were under attack, Rick pretended he didn't notice any walkers headed for him. He was still a sentient human being and didn't want to kill someone who had grown a part of their group. But Eugene was dead to him, and he would find a way of disposing him whenever he found Carl.

Carl. That was the most important issue. He had woken himself out of the delirious state he was in days before thanks to Michonne and Daryl's help and decided to improve his leadership. Everyone was allowed an opinion of where they wanted to stay, what they wanted say (so long as it didn't oppose tracking Carl down). His small feuds with Abraham were beginning to die down, and while they had spent two years in the same group, Rick finally began to form a bond of tolerance with the ginger man.

The group found themselves lost in an open space: open except for a barn. Daryl had been very enthusiastic and had located the place for them. When they traveled inside, they were surprised to see an engraving written on the wall. In awe, the whole group studied the writings. Rick, holding hands with his daughter, were behind them, and they pushed their way to the front.

Time stood completely still.

**Dad (Rick) this is Carl. I hope you're okay. As well as Judith and others. I am still alive ****and I have supplies, so don't worry. I am trying my best to look for you but if you're reading this and I'm not with you then you know that it hasn't quite happened yet. I saw a house a while back with some toys and supplies for Judith in. Please make sure you put Judith first.**

The untidy scrawl described something that had uplifted Rick's soul like nothing had ever done before. His grin was exceeding the length of his face, and his cries of joys were music to everyone else's ears.

Tara pointedly looked at Noah. "I told you so," she mouthed. He stood there, astounded, also grinning as the whole group talked excitedly to each other about their new discovery.

Rick gleefully picked his daughter up and swung her around, her giggles the most beautiful sound he had heard yet. She was confused as to what was going on.

"Daddy? Wha's tha'?"

"_That_, Judy, is a your big brother telling us he's okay," he smiled.

"Car?"

He laughed. "Yes, Judy- _Carl_."

Daryl and Michonne came over to his side, Rick's grin not for one moment disappearing from his face.

"You proud of your son, Rick? The kid must've learnt from the best!" Daryl spoke.

"Thanks, man."

Daryl cracked a large grin himself. "Nah man, not you. I was talkin' 'bout me!"

"You can relax now, Rick." Michonne placed a hand on his back, another cupping Judith's cheeks. "He's made it this far. And alone too!"

Abraham, with a small flask over alcohol he had found, threw it up in the air and boomed: "TO CARL: KILLER KID!" Everyone cheered with excitement while Daryl studied the barn floor away from the crowd.

"And to think you doubted it!" Tara retorted.

Daryl observed dried mud that was scattered generously in shoe-shaped tread marks. Having spent years with the child, he was able to understand his foot prints fairly well, and he was equally excited about the new development.

Until he noticed a different set of smaller foot prints occasionally popping up next to Carl's.

"Guys," Daryl shouted. "I don't think Carl's alone. Look!"

Maggie and Glenn ran over, and their smiles faltered. "Oh God," Glenn shook his head.

Daryl tried to analyze the prints. "Now, they're smaller. Probably size four or five maximum. Definitely boots. And there's one for every five or so of Carl's, if they are his. Whoever it is, they're probably weaker than him, and it looks like Carl might have the upper hand if they are a threat. That, or they are just left over's from those old blood stains in the far corner there. The blood's too dried up to be this recent."

"So, he's got company?"

"Maybe," Daryl said.

"Good God!" Carol sighed. "Is this kid ever gonna get a break?"

"He doesn't need a break." Rick stated. "He needs his father, and he needs to hope that if he is with someone, they're not dangerous."

* * *

Carl had waited an hour an entire hour for Eileen and she had yet to return. He was sitting down waiting impatiently when the wall behind him was greeted with a large impact, the contact enough to make Carl fall forward and lean over hurriedly for his gun, his knife already at hand. Without any hesitation, he swung open the door to the small building and held out his weapons ready for attack. It struck him that perhaps Eileen was mucking about in a half-hearted, friendly way, but as he raced forward to get a better view of the structure in it surroundings, his knees began to wobble.

Hundreds and hundreds of walkers were scratching at the building or wobbling over to him. The accumulated smell was strong enough to nearly knock him out. He had other priorities.

_Oh my God. What am I supposed to do? I haven't got a clue where Eileen went. She said she went to check on the trap but she was a bit stressed, maybe she went elsewhere. I can't ditch her. I don't wanna shoot and scare her either ._

"EILEEN!" It was the loudest thing he had ever shouted, his voice turning raspy and high pitched. He ran to where he thought he might find her, looking back every few seconds at the few that were gaining on him. He tried one area of the forest, screaming for Eileen, but she didn't appear.

_What do I do? If I shoot now I don't have more ammo when I run out, because she took her sacred bag with her. I can't knife them as it gives the rest of them an advantage. If I can't find her in quick enough, I'm going to have to leave. What if she's already done that and left me? _

Carl tried a different direction running through more trees, not for the first time in his post-apocalypse life, when they started to appear from behind trees. When he realized he was at a fair distance from others, he used his knife to put down the closest ones.

"EILEEN!" he tried once more, racking his brain for where they had put the trap.

There was a rustling, which he assumed was just another walker, as he stared at the empty trap unaccompanied by Eileen. Behind him, a walker was so close its manky breath leaked onto his neck making his hairs stand on end, and before he could turn around and finish him off, Eileen stood there blood stained removing her knife from the walkers skull. He had never seen the girl so terrified: it was as if she had never been in such a terrible situation before, but for the first time in their week together, she was showing an emotion in the face of danger.

"We gotta run," Carl said, pushing her forward at break-neck speed. She obliged and the two of them were running together.

"I figured that out myself, moron,"

"Don't argue now, we haven't got time."

"Should we use the guns?"

"..." He thought about it. Deciding they were at a fair enough distance, he studied the hundreds of the hungry undead approaching. "They've got your ammo in them, it's up to you, you wanted to make decisions."

"I wasn't hoping to make these kinds of decisions, Carl!" she mumbled, her voice filled with regret. _Huh. She used my name for once._ It appeared she had made her decision when she held her gun up and just about hit some of their heads. Some were great hits and others were just lucky. "I still say we keep running, Carl. We don't wanna lose all of the ammo!"

"Agreed. Go!"

It took ages before they had outrun the majority of them. They look it upon themselves to have a walk for a while, just not a leisurely one. Both of them were on edge. They were on a mission to find a father that they both knew they were unlikely to find; they were scared they were going to be that close to death again; they were scared they wouldn't find shelter; and they were worried about where their relationship was. Once again, they'd saved each other's lives.

"Thanks for that, back there. I called for you." Carl explained, wiping his sweaty forehead. Still recovering from the anaerobic respiration, his inhaling and exhaling was loud. She was the same. "You could have shouted to me or something."

She glared. "I was preoccupied. There was a rabbit in the trap that I was dealing with when I was attacked. I didn't want us to go hungry-"

"You can't risk your life for something like that."

"-I know, I shouldn't have done that. It's not something I usually do. But...if we're supposed to be partners, I didn't want you to have to starve. Besides, there was only about two coming up to me. I've been in worse situations than two very weak zombies trying to get to me."

"Really?"

"Yeah. It's been four years. That's enough time for me to nearly die hundreds of times."

He looked at her with gratitude. "Well thanks for the rabbit, we'll eat it later. Just- just don't do that again."

"I've been alone now for two years, I can handle things myself."

"Eileen," he groaned. _She's going to argue again. I was just trying to be nice to her._ "You're allowed to want to have help-"

"-I don't need it though."

"Yes, but you shouldn't want to be alone all the time. It's not good for you-"

She came close to his face, a fearsome look in her eyes. "Just because I saved you doesn't make us friends- I keep telling you this. You're not one hundred percent dislike-able, _Grimes, _I'll give you that. But don't expect to have such privileges as telling me what I should feel or what I should tell you because that's not how this works. I've been alone for a reason. You just happen to be an exception to my rule, for reasons that I cannot understand as of yet."

Between them, they stared at each other. The silence was eerie. It was then that through eye-contact, they mutually agreed on one thing: Carl and Eileen's relationship was extremely complicated.

* * *

**Thanks for taking the time to read my story. **

**Many Oranges :)**


	13. Edge of the Forest

Grey skies draped around the small household that Carl and Eileen examined, like a dusty blanket. The air thick with the odour of sweat and sorrow, yet underlined with the less depressing smell of sympathy, and the ever aromatic relief also swept through the air. And with regard to peppermint body wash, the week spent afterwards had peeled the half-nice smell away from Eileen's worn out body. She had done a lot of running, and had washed incredibly infrequently compared to her time before meeting Carl. To begin with, she made these small sacrifices in the hope that Carl would listen to her and take shelter in a house, but it soon occurred that he abandoned their deal.

"We're staying here, tonight Carl." She said.

"You- what?"

"I said we're staying here. For once in this whole week, I am making a survival decision. We stay here," she walked forward inside the living room of the house. It was petite and the pile of ashes- in place of what could only be an old log fire - made it seem mire homely than she'd expected to come across. "We're still out of breath. We need rest, dependable shelter, a place to sleep, and clothes-"

"We nearly died and you're still worried about clothes?"

She nodded. "Speaking to me like that isn't going to make me feel stupid, moron. I haven't changed in about four or five days, so I stink- _still_ not as bad as you- and I have got to wash to stop infection and disease and ultimately death. I won't be killed because I let my armpits are collecting gallons of sweat."

Recoiling in disgust, Carl spoke back. "First of all, that was gross." They both looked away from each other, trying to maintain hostility, and failing at this, they found themselves laughing softly. "And second of all, I don't think you an die from a couple of reeking armpits, Eileen."

"Obviously. But I will die if I don't keep clean and keep out infection. I mean, you know what I smell like. It's awful. And now you're aware of what awful smells like, take it and multiply by ten and you'll find an exact description of a nicer smelling you. I'm having a look around now, Grimes."

She did exactly as she described. As usual, she used a small portion of water to clean herself using the last remnants of peppermint body wash she scraped from the bottom if the travel-sized container. She dumped her stained and revolting clothes on the ground without a second thought and launched for the closet in the respective bedroom she was getting changed in. As it turned out, it must have been a one-man house as it was the only room with a closet and discrete decorations. The closet carried only menswear.

_Well this is potentially problematic. Nothing a few adjustments can't fix, I suppose. And it just means more clothes to choose for Carl to ignore._

She managed to find and underwear drawer, and while disappointed that she would be restricted to boxers, she was not surprised to find a distinct lack of a bra supply, so she grudgingly kept the sweaty one she'd been dragging about for almost two weeks. Eileen considered the Winter month at hand before grabbing a terribly baggy plaid shirt. There were very few trousers suitable for different situations. The top was far too large to move comfortably in, so she dropped it.

S_ince when have I ever found choosing clothes this hard?_

There was a pile of clothes shoved behind a pair of sneakers and some sophisticated work boots. Within the rubble of fabric, were a wrinkled pair of sweatpants with adjusting strings. As she slipped her cold legs into the wooly fabric, for a moment in time, she expressed physical relaxation as her muscles were no longer tense. Her shoulders dropping at the warmth despite her upper body still uncovered. The straps were soon adjusted to their tightest but still sagged slightly about her practically skeletal waistline.

_I've moved around the room and back now and they didn't feel like they were falling down so it's looking good in the pants side of things._

The rubble had a men's jogging shirt. It was far too cold to be wearing such thin and flesh exposing materials. And, as much as it irked her, she was embarrassed about unshaven armpits being in show to the entire world, including the moron looting the kitchen downstairs. She settled for a shirt that would have, on a man, given a tight fit, but on her, sagged three quarters of the way down her arm and spilt over the top of the pants. Tucking the shirt in made very little difference. She kept to her normal boots. When she had quickly thrown together a couple of potential shirts and trousers for Carl, as well as underwear, she headed down to join him in surveying the perimeters of the house's interior.

"Nice clothes, Armpit-Lady," he insulted her good-naturedly.

"Wait until you see the ones I set out for you, moron," Eileen huffed and found a cabinet with a large gun inside. _Who lived when the world went wrong, and was an idiot enough to leave their weapon here? Is it going to be light enough to carry, or easy enough to use a-_

"That's awesome. You can have your second gun back and I can take that."

She turned to him, annoyance all over. "Right, just stop and think a second. We're teenagers. We've got no energy, and that's a pretty heavy piece of equipment. We don't know it's condition or how it works..." Eileen listed hundreds of reasons to keep cautious of the gun, but Carl remained mystified by it.

"It's brilliant. And I can can easily handle this. Me and my family often got into different incidences in which I used a couple of heavy guns like this." He lifted it up and swung it over his shoulder, a smug look across his face.

"That's one of the reasons I avoid people. They cause a lot of trouble."

"Yeah. Tell me about it." He hesitated for a moment. "I didn't find too many useful things-"

"That's quite annoying considering I recently remembered I left my wind-up flashlight at that house when I stupidly followed you, and you forgot to get batteries over a week ago when I asked."

He held up his hands. "Gee, I'm sorry. I didn't make you come and get me. If you regret it that badly..."

Eileen frowned. "You were saying?"

"Right- I didn't find many useful things. Obviously, you found more clothes, and there were a few edible things in the kitchen. One thing I did find is a pack of cards." He pulled the pack from his bag: the thin card case was wearing at the sides. "Wanna play?"

"...sure..." she said sceptically. "What's the catch?"

"Wh-huh? There is no catch. I just asked if you wanted to play a card game."

"Sorry," she laughed. "I'm just surprised we're not arguing for once."

"Yeah. You know, you're quite likeable when you're not giving me the silent treatment."

"I appreciate the thought," Eileen said quietly. "We'll play later. We need to get securing the place and cooking the rabbit."

"I'll join you." He followed her into the back garden where they began to construct a fire out of twigs they removed from the tree, and Eileen's candle matches.

* * *

As the evening drew nearer, the fire Eileen and Carl constructed outside was exceptionally successful. With both of their survival knowledge combined, the flames were roaring. Carl had taken the role of skinning the rabbit: he'd watched Daryl do it with such ease hundreds of times, that he had learnt the craft for himself.

Meanwhile, Eileen maintained the fire and travelled around the house for cutlery and plates. Carl was wholly unaware that she was doing this, so when they had eventually cooked the rabbit and he brought it inside, he was greeted by surprise at a small table in the living room. Eileen was nowhere in sight.

On the table were some shiny white plates, with what appeared to be small glasses next to them, and knives and forks. In the centre of the table, between the plates at either end, stood a rather pleasing display of the pack of cards, placed in a curved succession of spades to hearts. As Carl cautiously edged his way towards the table, he saw some salt and pepper standing together.

The look of utter confusion and happiness on Carl's face was almost laughable. His eyes were shifting and his hands were running through his hair.

"...err...Eileen?" He called. He was met by chuckling and found Eileen with her hands covering her mouth and her cheeks reddening. "What's this?"

"I thought it would be amusing to set it out like a dinner... if you don't want it I'll get rid of it. The l-look on your f-face, oh my goodness..." she broke into more laughter and he hesitantly joined in.

He answered. "No, leave it. It's just- well- it's not like we're ever going to get a _real_ posh dinner ever again."

"Correct, _Grimes_."

They sat down at the carpets, towering over the table. Carl began to cut up the usable rabbit meat and halved it between the two of them. They both applied whichever pepper or salt they wanted, and Eileen graciously filled their glasses with water from her bag. They dug in, expressing looks of great excitement and happiness.

_This is kind of nice for something scraped from the forest and cooked by Sheriff Moron Grimes, over there. _

Carl interrupted their silence. "Why are you so hard to understand?"

"Excuse me?" She was taken aback, and while slightly offended, she avoided displaying such.

"You were refusing to speak about anything, and then you told me quite a lot. Then we argue all the time, and then you're nice. You hate me, then you like me. You're either silent for days, or you actually communicate with me, often to have a go at me, and now we look like upper-class neanderthals."

She shrugged. "I don't know. You just don't seem to comprehend the extent of how annoying you can be. For me...I've been alone for two years, so being with someone else is new and I find it slows me down. I don't want to trust you but after these last few days I'm beginning to and it worries me." She took another sip of water. "And you make weird decisions. We've been in this house for, what? Three hours? And it's been ten time's safer than staying wherever you deem is okay. You prefer to use guns and I do everything I can to avoid them. And you lost your Dad, yet somehow you still have hope. You don't often consider hope. And I know I've been difficult, and you still try and be nice to me. Maybe you're just the one who is hard to understand?"

They avoided eye-contact. "...oh."

"Yeah. Oh."

"So, where does this leave us?"

She sighed. "It leaves us in complete misunderstanding of each other."

"...um-" _What if I try a game like I did with Michonne? I just ask her questions, and she asks me questions and eventually we might understand each other. _"-I have an idea on how to fix that."

"Shoot. Just- just not with your fancy new gun," Eileen felt herself feel a little happier at the poor joke she cracked.

"Alright." He sat up. "Why don't we ask questions about each other. Now that we trust each other a bit more it won't end up like it did after the dentists."

"Fine. But...if we step over the line of privacy we have to poker face the interviewer and they must pass that turn."

"Rule accepted. Me first-"

"No," she said. "Me first. You came up with the game, I'm the youngest. The youngest always goes first. My question to you is who taught you to cook rabbit?"

"That's your big question?" She didn't seem to think anything of it and found herself genuinely interested in his cooking skills. "Alright... a man named Daryl in my group. He is a proper redneck, but he's awesome. I watched him do it from when this all first began and I just figured out his technique. My go! Where did you go to school?"

"Atlanta Boarding School for Young Women. Okay, so when-"

"-BOARDING SCHOOL?" he cried. She jumped back in surprise at his shouting. "You must have been loaded!"

She nodded. "I had money, sure. Boarding school was awful though."

"Why?" Eileen immediately felt angry and avoided the topic.

"Not your question, moron. Now, I want to know when you felt the most scared through the apocalypse."

He ripped off some meat and shook his head. "All the time. The most scared and frightened I ever felt that I remember, was when...was when I got angry. My Dad was in some sort of weird state after certain Woodbury things had happened." Eileen would never understand much about Woodbury as she avoided it as soon as she saw it. "Our group got separated after the incident. Luckily, I was with Dad. He ran out of energy for a while though and went into some weird state. Then he woke up, but he was like a walker. I was going to shoot him. I knew it was my Dad though and I couldn't kill my Dad, walker or not. Not after I told him I'd be fine if he died. He hadn't turned though."

Eileen absorbed the information as Carl's face turned pallid and frightened. "I'm sure he forgives you for saying that."

"Yeah," he said. "I sure hope so. I was wrong, just so you know. I wouldn't be okay if he died. It'd hurt so bad." He lifted up his glass of water and downed it in a couple of gulps. He wiped his mouth with shaky hands and fidgeted in his spot. "You're right. You can't even trust yourself sometimes." She nodded and let him take a break as he fell into a dream-like state staring at his plate.

_Dad...I WILL find you. I'm sure you're not too far away. Shoot! I haven't asked her the questions._

"How many walkers have you killed?"

"Sorr-"

"HOW MANY?"

"Uh, I don't know. A fair few. I don't keep count."

"And how many people?"

She crossed her arms. "It's my question now."

"ANSWER ME."

"Fine...two. My sister, and this guy...he tried to strangle me so I shot him."

He nodded calming himself down. For a moment, he felt unsure that his Dad would have approved of him gaining company that hadn't fulfilled the criteria that his group went by. Even if his Dad wasn't there, he would always follow in his footsteps and be loyal to his ideas- it got them that far, so why wouldn't it work.

"Anything else you wanna ask me?" Carl asked.

_Clearly, Carl is not okay. He needs to take his mind off of his family else I think dangerous things will happen. He's trying to pretend his doesn't think that they might be dead, or have given up on him, but he has doubt. As soon as he comes to terms with it, maybe he'll be a bit more stable. Though having gotten closer to him, I am starting to have hope that his group might be alive...what am I saying? Sort it out, Eileen. You know how things work. Stop being weak, sentiment gets you no where. This is strictly a survival partnership only. Although...this meal had made me feel the happiest I have in years- stop. The least you can do is change the topic so he isn't hurting as much. You know you are still human._

"...Let's just play with the cards..."

* * *

As the group walked with victory over the recent Carl development, the moon shone over the fields they walked by. Daryl had spent the next few hours keeping track of the muddy footprints: both Carl's and his companion's.

"The trails are thinning, Rick," Daryl whispered trying not to wake up Judith who was in a deep slumber in her father's arms. "I think they may have changed direction. I mean, they aren't appearing too often any more. And they seem to be moving to the side."

"Near the forest or something?"

"Exactly."

"We're going to need to set up camp. We'll carry on along the trails tomorrow." Rick announced to the group as they grinded to a halt. "Daryl. Thank you." He addressed his friend, the crossbow-wielder.

Carol stepped forward. "I'll set up the fire. We can make a small camp just outside the forest. That way we can get out if we see anything coming from inside. And we have a place to hide if something sees us from the outside."

"I'm gonna help," grunted Daryl, following after her.

"Sure thing, Pookie," she laughed and the two of them walked ahead.

Maggie and Sasha followed closely behind chatting quietly amongst themselves.

Even though the group was quite, they were still buzzing about the prospect of being near the young boy who they had tragically lost. Many of them noted that it brought Rick back to good health, mentally, and Michonne had become calmer as well.

The entire group's spirits had been lifted, so much so, that walking about in the eerie darkness no longer seemed frightening with their pathway lit by their happiness.

As Rick clung to his child, he breathed a sigh of relief and for once, relaxation. All this effort had not been wasted. His only concern besides actually finding him now, was finding the person with him. He would need to ask them the questions, or maybe even kill them. Perhaps he could recruit a new member into their group: there was no way Carl would walk about with someone else who wasn't safe. Judith would soon have her older brother to help care for her. Maybe she didn't understand exactly what was going on.

A hand outstretched and stroked Judith's hair. Rick looked up to see whose hand it was, and found Tyreese smiling at him. "Would you like me to take Judith for a while so you can rest up?"

He nodded and the toddler squealed with glee as Tyreese gargled several entertaining noises for her.

"You're a good Dad, Rick. Don't for one second think otherwise," He stated firmly, and he carried Judith ahead.

Inside, Rick thought about this statement. If he was honest with himself, he felt completely the opposite. He was never there for his son when his mother was dying at his very feet. As far as he knew, his baby daughter was dead while he tried to find Terminus. His son almost became a sociopath. He found himself fighting instead of providing food for the baby. And now, he had lost his son. While Rick was no expert in parenting, he was well aware that had the world never changed, this would have constituted as parenting punishable by prison. Now, he didn't know just how good his parenting was.

* * *

**Thank you for reading.**

**Many Oranges :)**


	14. Deterioration

Over the next two weeks, Carl and Eileen maintained a civil approach to one another, often filling moments of extreme boredom with card games. As expected, the two of them seemed to get into stiff arguments where the two of them were trying to avoid spoiling the truce they had instilled between them.

Most noticeably though, was Carl's aggression. Eileen could identify instability when gripped her wrist a little too tightly, leaving a small couple of bruises.

Then, as they found themselves in houses and small hideouts, Carl would excuse himself for either elongated periods of silence, or for a couple of hours where his grunts of anger emanated from wherever he hid himself. When he would emerge from where he hid his violence, pillows would often be destroyed and scatted along the floor, or wood would be split into many sharp pieces. Eileen presumed it would be most appropriate to leave him to his own ways of dealing with frustration over the loss of his father.

There was a profoundly frightening development in his anger issues the week before. They had located an extensive, local bar, filled with dusty glasses and alcohol, with very many sets of tables and chairs. Upon entering, the two of them had been struck by silence in the wake of a prior tiff, but enraged by whatever petty thing the two of them had fought over, coupled with the loss of his group, resulted in more violence. Carl could have never imagined himself to resort to throwing items against walls.

_Have I become weak? Maybe I just underestimated how long I could go without Dad for. And Michonne. I have no one to talk to that I am close enough to share deep concerns with. Eileen is here, yeah, but she never speaks to me about hers. Therefore I don't trust her with my issues. _

Despite his questioning, he continued to slam chairs to the ground, holding the splintered ends up to Eileen as she cautiously stood aside, holding her gun, trying her best to dampen his anger.

Funnily enough, sometimes her serious yet gentle approach could convince him to put down shards of broken glass. He would still stay angry, but could forget his urge to attack. Even though the remembrance of more traumatic events was often triggered by her irritating him very slightly, he was grateful that she said nothing to him about his empty threats to hurt her. She would act as if she had forgotten about it. She would say she didn't care. However, she cared enough to want to stop him from hurting her and himself, even if it terrified her to be in his presence when he got that way.

_I could never actually hurt her, could I? I know she is pain, but I feel as though we are verging on friends. It would be wrong if I hurt her. Even though I complain, I guess she does show very minimal signs of being able to return small amounts of care for me. She cares enough to stop me feeling murderous. When I get like that, I don't even feel like myself any more. As if these violent episodes where I lose who I am for short moment, are withdrawal symptoms from being without the group._

Eventually, they reached a quiet two bedroom house. It was fairly comfortable, with floral wallpapers and reclining couches.

The first night they spent in house was uneventful. Luckily, Carl was of a pleasant state of mind having not thought about his father for a short while. When he was thinking about him, he was either extremely anxious, or was envisaging just how amazing the reunion with his group would be. As a result of his clear mind, he offered to stay up for the first watch.

Eileen reluctantly agreed, arguing that he requires some much needed rest, but he refused to sleep. Leaving him downstairs, she clambered onto the bed of the largest room upstairs, and wrestled her calendar from her bag. Each day up to the sixth of December was marked with four strokes, the rest of them only had three. She reached her pen and inked in a fourth scratch for the seventh of December, before packing the calendar away beside the bed.

Finally allowing her muscles to release tension, she leant back into the soft pillows and stifled a content sigh.

_You don't get to be comfortable. You should know this by now. What if Carl goes mad again? I will have to arm myself and then try and calm him down from his anger attacks. I can't be a sleeping victim. Sure, he never used to hurt me, but I think the realisation that he may not find his father has caught up to him and hit him like a tonne of bricks. He's a little unpredictable when he is vulnerable, which I can appreciate. _

It was difficult for Eileen to resist the temptation of wriggling beneath the warmth of the neatly made bed sheets. To her, cocooning would only make it difficult to get up and leave quickly if need be.

_Just get through a few hours of sleep. Then, you can force him to sleep and in the morning we can try and catch something to eat. _

She did so, and as dawn passed, Eileen crept downstairs to find Carl sat up and writing on a sheet of paper.

"What are you doing?"

"Writing a letter for my Dad."

Eileen felt her gut twist. It was starting to hurt _her_ that Carl hadn't found his Dad yet. And this was saying something, as for two years she had reduced herself to feeling sorry for others. Being with Carl was bringing back her human thoughts. It was most hurtful because he was still not ready to admit that he may never find his group.

"Uh uh..." Eileen nodded. She disappeared momentarily to the kitchen and returned with a tin of apples that they both shared.

"You sleep weirdly."

"What?" she choked a bit of apple. It seemed to make Carl feel happier, so she said nothing of it.

He shuffled to the side. "You sleep weirdly."

"I don't sleep. I sit there and I think with my eyes close. I never properly sleep."

"Whatever. You do it weirdly."

Her brows furrowed. "Care to explain what problem you have with the way I sleep?"

"None." He said. "You just seem to sleep on your back, twisted a little, and your hands over your chest like a Mummy. Isn't that uncomfortable?"

"No," she lied. "Besides, if something were to attack I need to facing upright in order to react with optimum speed."

He nodded. "I noticed you do it back at the dentists, and at the barn, a many other times. I wanted to check if you were alright during the night, and you were doing it then too."

_He watched me sleep? I don't know whether to feel slightly happier that he cares about me, or on edge. _

"Oh right..."

He leant back from the table and slowly moved the note before her. It read:

**Dear Dad (Rick) and the group,**

**I am still fine. I have managed to get enough supplies and water. **

**I hope Judith is okay. I will try and find you all, I promise. I really am trying. **

**I miss you all so much. **

**Michonne, I want you to know that I am keeping myself going like you taught me. While I am looking for you all, I am keeping myself safe from the walkers and giving myself shelter. **

**Carl.**

Eileen looked up from the letter, giving him a weak smile. "You really do think we're going to find him, don't you?"

He nodded enthusiastically, something very bizarre. His over-positivity was something verging on crazy.

"It'd be nice if it snowed soon. I think it might be December."

"How can you tell?"

"Um...the weather patterns, I guess." She shrugged. "It was cold in November, but sometimes warm and crispy so I though that was more Autumn weather. The trees were not as green as they could be; most had brown leaves. Now, trees barely have anything on them, and we've had more days with rain than without it, so that is clearly a Winter characteristic. Still, I think Winter has lasted longer than usual, through November as well. No once exists to give out carbon dioxide emissions any more, so I figured the Earth is getting cooler in warmer months."

"So you want a white Christmas?" he chuckled .

She grinned sheepishly. "Yeah. I guess one of them would be nice." Inside, all she could think about was the Christmas where she was left alone. Fleeting shudders of previous insecurity skimmed her skin, goosebumps arising. Every December she had been forced to remember it, even though she no longer felt sad from it. It made her realize that she needed to be stronger.

"We need food," he stated, standing up preparing his knives.

"Let's head out for a bit and set up some traps."

* * *

Rick's group had continued their search from the forest the next day. Daryl's tracker skills had come in handy as they were able to trace human footprints as they diverted towards a marshland, and then took a completely new direction; the remnants of muddy, soaked feet illustrating their path.

Two week later, and they were still following tracks that were drying and were almost virtually disappearing.

Michonne lead the group, with Rick next to her, and Daryl keeping his eyes to the path just behind them.

"I think we're gonna find them," she said.

"I _know_ we're gonna find him!" Rick smiled. "These are the same tracks. I am hoping Carl left another note or something. It was great getting one a while back knowing he's okay, and it would be nice to know that he still is."

She playfully whacked his back. "Sure he is! You raised a good kid!"

"I raised a good kid for the zombie apocalypse. I never got a raise a normal kid. I feel guilty that I'll never do that with Judith either. She's not ever going to know what a world is like without walkers. She won't even know what real food is, and she won't even know what magazines and radios are. She won't be a normal kid,"

"And you're absolutely right, Rick."

"It hurts."

She shook her head, closing her eyes. Discussions of parenthood with Rick could often bring back painful memories of Andre. "I didn't get to raise my son at all. But if I did, you can only do what you can. As long as you bring them up to brave the norm, which you have done with Carl, then you will still be a good parent. I still believe that we will get back to normal. In the meantime, you have to make the best of the bad punch. This is the world as they will know it to be."

"Do you...do you think of Andre when you see Judith?"

"Not just when I see Judith. Whenever your children are brought up I think of his precious little face, and tiny hands." As sweat compiled around her ears, more fluids began to brim from her tear ducts. It was embarrassing for her; she had maintained an image of strength and security for so long, but had never shared her grief like his- not even with Carl. She wiped her eyes. "He was just a baby. It's one thing for an adult to die, but for a baby, it's just sick. They've not even seen the world yet. Sometimes it makes me wonder whether it was fair bringing him to life in the first place. Then I have to remember that I loved him. And if I loved him at all, it was worth it. That's why I want to protect Judith and Carl so much."

Rick turned to face the brave woman, who stood hunched over stopping herself from crying.

"I don't have my wife any more, but I still think about her. She was a good parent. But she had other priorities when this all started. You barely knew Carl, but you've cared for him a whole lot more than she did when this happened. For that, I don't think I can possibly thank you and everyone here enough."

* * *

Eileen managed to get a standardized squirrel when she checked back on the traps alone later that afternoon. Her boots trampled with care over the dying leaves on her way back to the house.

_Is Carl just a danger to me? I'm not a therapist so I can't exactly deal with his problems, however clear they might be..._

As she made to come out of the forest, a zombie approached along the grass with only one arm and one leg. It had thinning, matted hair and it's bones were tearing through the flesh on its face. It noticed Eileen and immediately burst into desperation, crawling at a more intense speed towards her.

Instantly, Eileen removed her knife and slotted it into its brain. All movement had subsided. It laid weakened on the floor. Eileen didn't feel any guilt towards the corpse, but felt a prodding at the back of her mind trying to provoke a thought process in which she considered the complications of needing food and having only one arm and leg.

_Shut up, you moron. You've finished that zombie off. Now, just get back to Carl and hope to God that he hasn't wrecked the place in an inexplicable episode of aggression. _

The closer and closer she got to the house, the more twisted her intestines felt, writhing with agony and sympathy to Carl.

_This is what you get for staying with him. Emotions are going to get you killed. Or are they? Well I have survived this lone alone and without them, and Carl seems to have survived this long with people and with emotions. I just feel awkward around him. It's obvious we're not a friendship designed in Heaven. Hell, we're not even a friendship. I suppose I could try and tell him how grateful I am that he hasn't let me die yet. While I take pride in my ability to take care of myself, he hasn't watched me get eaten alive this far, so maybe a thank you was in order. It might cheer him up and take his mind off of what has been worrying him. If he knows I care, then maybe we'll have a better relationship and his anger issues might be cut short. _

Eileen eventually crept in through the back door and made her way to the kitchen where Carl sat with a bowl of crusty cereal.

"I've been thinking," Eileen mumbled from the door, her head hanging low. "That even though I have told that you put me in danger all the time, you have still managed to get me out of some situations. So I guess, in some respects, things I might have called moronic may have...not been moronic."

To Carl, this was the best effort at an apology she could make without ruining her pride. But that was not how fairness was: fairness was not just admitting others were right, but knowing you were wrong.

He smirked from the chair he sat at. "So that means you admit you have been wrong-"

"-I never said that."

"It's what you mean though."

Nothing but a stiff look in the other direction notified Carl that she had not in fact changed and was still a stubborn and annoying little brat.

"Look Eileen, I don't see why it's so difficult to admit that for once in your life you have made mistakes. It doesn't make you an imbecile to admit it. If anything, it'll probably make you smarter. Gee, at least then you'll know you've recognised the truth."

She sniffed. "I don't have time to be wrong."

"But everyone else does?" She looked away. Carl snorted. "Of course, you're not so smart now, are you? Huh?"

Then, provoked by the girl standing before him, he began to feel a boiling sensation in his chest and in his mind reminders of his missing father flooded back to him, as well as other misfortunes that Carl had experienced in is lifetime. It drove him to ball his fists and bite his cheeks. Unlike the past couple of week's worth of small aggressive outbursts, something felt stronger then. It was as if he was close to exceeding his capacity for calmness.

"Oh yeah, and while we're talking about your petty issues," he rose and strides over to her, pointing a finger at her chest. He felt dizzy in his head. It was aching and whole world was spinning at a much faster rate than the norm. He was furious. "Why don't we discuss your fears? Oh that's right! You act like don't have any and all that makes you look like is a cold-hearted, bitchy, shady idiot. That's what I thought when I first knew you. I thought you'd open up after a while. You did for a bit. And now you're back to being a proud, selfish _moron_."

She sharply inhaled. "C-Carl...stop it. I don't think you mean this, you're just angry again-"

"SHUT UP, EILEEN! I'm not finished yet!" He yelled, some spit landing on her face, her entire body recoiling at his aggression. "You don't know enough about me to judge. All you do is make play with all your surroundings and read a bunch of useless rubbish. You don't care about my family- you're just bored! You couldn't care less if I died right now before your eyes!"

"Yo-your just lying to yourself. Of course I would care. I do have feelings!"

"Oh yeah..." He then began to sadistically laugh in her face. "I remember! How _moronic_ of me to forget about those while you sit there doing a pathetic job of being my friend and telling me your feelings? I forgot about when you said you killed your sister. You didn't even have emotional attachment to it! How does that make you look, huh? You acted as though it was necessary but to me it looks like a damn good reason to show that you're a psychopathic, uncaring person! And you know what hurts me the most? I KNEW WE COULD NEVER BE REAL FRIENDS IN THE BEGINNING! YET I REMEMBERED YOUR ASSETS AND FORGOT ALL ABOUT YOUR FLAWS." He inhaled strongly before whispering. "I made a massive God forsaken mistake trying get on with the likes of heartless trash like you!" He stormed off, seething in anger. A large percentage of him meant those words. But an even larger percentage regretted them. It was as if he poured his heart into that and his fists were balled tightly resisting the urge to attack something. "You don't even talk when you are scared. I mean for God's sake, you even told me you just ignore your problems. YOU DON'T WANT TO CARE ABOUT ANYONE ELSE AND YOU CERTAINLY DON'T REALLY WANT ME TO CARE FOR YOU."

"Well at least-"

"At least WHAT?" Carl shouted.

"...at least I don't need to break things to get over my family. At least I am smart enough to realise that violence won't bring my family back. And no, not just because _I left them voluntarily_, but because it doesn't help! And I'll have you know that wrecking the place is an equally psychotic mechanism of dealing with trauma."

He stood there staring at her with utter derision that he had almost convinced himself he would never do around her. For a while, he had started to believe that there was some civility blossoming between the two of the them. It dawned on him that she'd finally explained how she ended up alone, and while it interested him to know more, his anger outweighed his curiosity. Carl also felt annoyance that she brought up the episodes. He always thought that she would talk him out of hurting her, and would act as though she didn't care. _Isn't that was she always does? She's never scared...well, she never admits it. Oh God...she must've actually been terrified everyone of them times I made to hit her._

She continued. "You, _Carl Grimes_, are pathetic. And I don't understand why I felt the impulse to stay with you to begin with, but I guess it was because there was an underlining of hope in my emotions that made me think of giving you a chance too. But it turned out you were aggressive, moody and reckless. Do you even know if we're ever going to find your group anymore?"

That was when Carl Grimes cracked.

He leapt forward knocking her over onto her back- she pulled the dining table cloth down with her in a futile attempt to stop her descent. Swinging his balled fists at her, grunting and sniffing in forming tears, he was indeed trying to fight her.

Eileen only had seconds to express shock at his fighting and very quickly matched it. She too was kicking and screaming at him. Both were firing choice obscenities and insults as they rolled over one another gracelessly firing punches. It was not a 'cool' fight. Nor was it worthy of exceptional theme music. It was a rather anticlimactic display of two teenagers with an extremely complicated friendship and deep childhood trauma, trying to fist fight one another. It was disastrous and pathetic. After a while, they messily agreed earlier on in the scuffling to put their knifes and guns aside.

"Apparently," Carl spat between punches. "Guys are not," he swung his fist, and she moved her head in order to avoid it. "Supposed to-" Eileen struggled back shoving his chest and head away from her. "-hit girls!" He yelled. Before dragging her up and reaching out to throw her down. She caught his flailing arms and they were both intertwined in some clammy, muscle-less brawl matched with noticeably equal strength making it hard for either one to get an advantage over the other.

"Oh yeah?" She panted, her knees meeting his stomach with very little impact. Her voice was thick with undeniable hatred in that moment. And Carl returned it with ease.

"Yeah!" He grabbed her leg and pulled her onto the table, before she kicked out and her foot collided with his nose. "But trust me, I don't care what gender you are, I'd have no trouble hitting a twisted psychopath like you!"

"Uh huh?" She now pinned him to the floor only to be slapped plainly across the face. "Is that so? I shouldn't really fight a guy then either-"

"Why?" He got himself up and they both bent over trying to nail one another back to the ground first.

"Because," she felt herself being thrown at a wall. "If you're not allowed to fight me, it would make you vulnerable if I fight you." She bent her leg and elongated it with her foot on his chest so as too put room between them for a short moment.

The whole fight was not entirely one sided (Carl being the most desperate to cause injury), as most of Eileen contributions, although equally aggressive, were to equalise or defend herself. In honesty, Eileen wasn't the hands-on fighting type, so no wonder it was a tragically unprofessional fight from the both of them.

After ages of bruising each other in as many childish ways they could imagine- Chinese burns, backwards finger bending, etcetera- Carl seemed to have finally got the upper hand pinning her down by her shoulders in the kitchen. His knees stopped her upper-arm limbs from fighting back, and they were both facing away from the window when it reached this stage. He looked down at her miserable and angry face: it was plastered with fear and anguish.

"Get off me!" She struggled, enhancing rediscovered flexibility by bending her legs back trying to kick him in the face. "What are you doing?" She cried.

Carl had his foot pressing down on her stomach while he reached for the nearest knife .

"Carl, what the hell?" She squealed, panicking. "WE PUT THE WEAPONS ASIDE FOR A REASON, CARL! Now who's the real psycho, huh? PUT IT DOWN, YOU DON'T WANT TO DO THIS!"

He held the knife down above her nose, dangling it there while clearly in deep thought. "Please..." She whispered. "Don't. Just think about who you are, Carl. You're nice." He stared at her as if she had said nothing. Unlike previous times, her calm (though at this pointed, slightly strangled) words did not work. "...I'm sorry. So, so sorry!"

But as much as he had sat there and considered his actions, he began to regain consciousness from his violent episode. He slowly stood up and used the knife for it's original purpose- to split the brains of the walker (whose notice had previously escaped them both) shoving its head through the ajar kitchen window.

Still fuming, Carl not only gave it one blow to the head. But three large slashes before letting it hang, blood dripping into the sink. He threw the knife in there too.

As he strode out of the room, he stopped to look at Eileen who looked extremely traumatized as she rose to her feet to check her bruises and brush herself off.

_I can't believe I actually attacked her. I'll never forgive myself. I'm turning into a monster. I was never meant to turn into just another monster._

"I didn't mean to," Carl's voice cracked. He ran upstairs and slammed the door of the furthest room shut.

* * *

**Thank you for taking the time to read. Hopefully you found this chapter a bit more action orientated. **

**Many Oranges :)**


	15. For Once

When Carl disappeared, Eileen chose to sit at the table with her bottle of water and catch her breath back. She couldn't help but feel slightly discomforted by the corpse leaning in from the window, its blood spewing into the drainage hole of the sink.

_A family used to wash their dishes in that. Gross. _

In order to set her mind free of the rotting smell, she grinded her chair across the floor and stalked over to the body, where she rather harshly pushed it out of the window, its brains sloshing across her marginally unsteady hands. As the body landed with a dull thud, Eileen closed the window, staining the handle with bloodied finger prints. This did not resolve the issue of the blood in the sink.

Of course, she had just been face to face with someone who almost considered killing her so while she was absolutely disgusted, she couldn't carry on as if there wasn't a burden on her shoulders for much longer.

_So Carl is upstairs doing God knows what. Probably sitting down crying. Maybe he's gotten out his anger now. Maybe he's come to terms with his Dad. Well, even if he hasn't, that was too close. I can't possibly hang around with someone who considers murdering me. You don't have to have a doctorate to calculate just how foolish that is. Still...ugh! Why can't I just give up on the moron? I'm going to have to just leave him be for a while and get on with the usual. Maybe I'll talk to him afterwards. _

Following her own orders, Eileen went about choosing her new clothes, and grabbing some bits and pieces for Carl. It aggravated her that she still felt inclined to do that. Especially if she was on the verge of walking out on him.

_He'll only try and kill you again. You've evaded others before. He's brave. He'll be fine on his own. Why can't you just do it? You're being the real moron here, Eileen. C'mon!_

To her annoyance, she felt herself blatantly ignoring the part of her head that weeks ago governed her every breath and she continued to get Carl clothes and a bit of soap and water to wash with, should he want it.

_Why do you care? He's just going to ignore you again. That's a waste of precious resources. He's upstairs, and weak, just get yourself out of there before things spiral out of your control and you are defeated by an overly stressed-out testosterone machine. _

She snorted at her own train of thought. Having gotten herself a new pair of sweatpants, a bra, some underwear and a woolly jumper, she felt extremely fresh. Eileen felt the gravitational pull of the room Carl's heavy, grieving breaths came from.

_You don't need to talk to him. Just leave. You avoided Woodbury. You avoided countless other killers. Why can't you just avoid him? You're becoming weaker, and that's going to get you kille- you know what? I still don't understand why I had to follow him on that first day, and I am not stupid. If he tries something again, I'll be gone for good. But I saw the pain in his eyes. It was genuine. But just because I left my parents voluntarily, doesn't mean I'll do the same for Carl. Carl deserves to live. Even if he is a moron a larger percentage of time. He doesn't need to be deserted just yet. _

Nearer and nearer to the door, Eileen felt her hands drip with clamminess. Nerves.

A creak in the floor she trod on caused Carl to crack his head up. His face was puffy and almost distorted with confusion and fear.

"...you can stay away, if you want! I'm a monster!" He cried.

She said nothing, but felt herself being drawn closer.

_I know you're not a people person, but you can do this. Just pat him on the back or something to show you care just a little..._

"DON'T YOU HEAR ME? I'M A MONSTER!" His yells were blistered with sobs and wails.

"...stop it."

He looked up at her with pointed eyes. "Why? Stop what? Stop facing the truth? I tried to kill you. You're smart, so _why_ are you _still here_?"

She lifted a bruised arm to tie her hair up. "You're right. I'm not stupid. I know you tried to kill me, I saw the consideration go through your brain. You and me...we're so different but I know we're both just children trying to grow up at a quicker rate. The only reason we're still here, is because we deserve to live a little longer. Carl, you're annoying and you stink, but you're a human being. You've been telling me I need to tell you stuff, and I will in my own time, but I am no stranger to self-doubt."

"I tried to kill you-"

"-I'm still here, aren't I?"

He quieted down, and grasped for the blanket on the bed he curled up on.

Hesitantly, Eileen continued. "Yeah. That's right. You couldn't do it because you don't actually want to kill me. You want to kill everything else that has done you wrong. That's how you cope with things. I clearly cope differently, and until we learnt to resolve our own traumas, it'll take us ages to be the best of friends," she cocked a sad smirk. "And...and I have more self-respect than to put myself in the company of a killer. So you can take out your aggression on the rotters, or you can search for your Dad alone. Deal?"

"...No." He bit. "NO! I- I can't take my aggression out on walkers...or you. I get it now. I'm done."

"Done with what? Living? If you're still here now, then why commit suicide? May as well live to regenerate the world when it's over."

He sniffed. "Not that. I think- I think I want to stop looking for my Dad, now. I mucked up. I wasted your time. I'm never going to find him again. So if you want to leave me now, you can. You can take the water you left out for me too." She edged back a little. "Yeah. Don't be alarmed: I know you still do that everywhere we stop."

For the first time in a while, the two of them shared a small smile.

Carl stopped crying and shuffled to the side, patting the spot next to him. Eileen stood at the door frame giving him a sceptical look.

"You can sit there. I left my weapons downstairs." He said.

She entered the room, lowering herself onto the spot next to him, not for a moment removing eye-contact.

_Just keep watching him. He might lash out at any moment. _

"We're pretty messed up." He said.

"Yes." She replied.

He turned to look at her, his face the most miserable Eileen had ever seen it. Even though he was not being attacked; even though everything was peaceful; the utter paths of destruction on his face that his tears left, coupled with the smile he was trying to use to cover up his pain, was enough of a sign that he was emotionally wrecked.

_He hasn't attacked me. And his face...I think he's serious. He seriously wants to stop looking for his Dad now. _

"I know you have self-respect. It's why you've survived alone this whole time. You don't have to tell me about your family, but I promise I'm not going to hurt you. Man, I am done."

"...Carl- your Dad- are you sure?"

He nodded. "Positive." Except his face contradicted his words.

"You're right. We're messed up. If I find you pointing a knife in my face again though, you can be that I'll be gone."

"Understandable."

"...I left my parents, Carl. Not because I had to- but because I wanted to. They eventually resorted to using me as bait in some cases; eventually labelling me as 'the problem-child they never saw coming'. Truth be known, I slipped out when they were in another room. They probably didn't know I was going. I didn't even leave a note. I'm just as much a monster as you."

"Hm." He got up and inhaled deeply. "I'll be back in a minute. I'm just going to- to go and sort that squirrel out..."

She looked at him with confusion before nodding her head lightly. "...Sure..."

* * *

There was a certain palpable dread about the board room in which Valerie sat at the end of her table, facing her dozens of men and women. As far as she knew, her workers were loyal and hard-working, passionate about the cure which was the very nature of her society's being.

All their heads were turned to her expectantly. Their faces were straight, that they might show a glimpse of emotion which Valerie may be repulsed to see. While they were all repaying her for taking them in when the re-construction of that building commenced, some of them were internally very frightened at the amount of power that Valerie had managed to obtain during her ruling.

"So," Valerie leaned ahead in her chair, and met the eyes of the dozen staff. "What progress has been made?"

As though to prevent favouritism, Valerie dared not to make eye contact with any particular member of her board room assembly- especially not with her children who sat stiffly next to her husband, Mark.

Cedric Worthy, and ex-military doctor, coughed nervously. "Well, Ma'am, we believe that we have been able to develop a new substance that can channel the source of activity inside the brain of the reanimated corpses that causes them to move."

"And what effect does this have?"

"Aha!" he chuckled, extracting no laughter from anyone surrounding him. "It can stimulate something off of the edge of the brain which can in turn keep the person human for a little longer, thus extending the time it takes for them to turn, and hopefully, begin to restore the human side of them-"

"Have you tested it?"

"Not yet."

"Have you generated any sets of data that might support the possibility of this 'new substance' yet?"

He sunk down in his seat, pushing his glasses up awkwardly. "No, Ma'am,"

"Fine." Valerie sighed impatiently. She was growing frustrated with her staff's recent inability to present relevant findings. "May I ask, if you don't mind, why you felt so pathetically compelled to waste your colleague's and I's time?" Her tone was sharp and fearsome, yet almost so articulate it was easy to mistake what she was saying as being a mere political interjection.

In response, Cedric found his lower lip trembling.

"Since Worthy has clearly been defeated by his own idiocy, pray tell that someone else has something worth while?" She asked of them.

A small woman, with dirty blonde hair managed to squeak something out. "What Cedric said, Ma'am, while unevidenced is our current plan. We are currently lacking the correct...the correct resources to carry out experimentations on. Therefore, we cannot say whether our new injectable substance is effective."

Valerie absorbed the argument of the petite lady, and nodded slowly in response. "Interesting."

"Yes," said another man. "We believe that the chemical, even in it's early stages, may be able to reduce the speed of the brains deterioration before the transformation. Better yet, it might get them sufferers remember things about their human life, and if we can conduct our experiments more frequently, one day we may see the eradication of the _disease _entirely."

"Fascinating," Valerie replied with interest. She swiftly turned her head to face the small selection of people she had placed in charge of taking in and rehabilitating the survivors. "How are our most recent intakes doing?"

An elderly lady, with a slender face, replied with a sickly amount of happiness. "Ma'am, they are being restored to full health as we speak. The three of them are fitting in nicely with others of their kind."

"So they're all healthy...?"

"Indeed."

Again, a silence struck. The staff shared uncertain glances. "Science Department, explain to me exactly why the number of reanimated corpses we are bringing you for experimentation is not sufficient."

Cedric remained silent, and once again, the second man spoke. "It is sufficient in many ways, but as it happens, our new chemical needs to be instilled upon people infected, but not yet turned. _That_ is the problem we are having. Besides, there are countless safety issues with bringing in them-" he shivered visibly in his seat. "-rabid creatures."

"You need humans to experiment on."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Valerie returned to face the lady who spoke of the survivors. "Healthy people would be excellent to experiment on. The effects of any chemicals would be more profound."

The board room all turned to face their leader in shock. Some of them even gasped aloud, forgetting that it may get them into much trouble.

Mark lovingly turned to her with a gentle but concerned look about his countenance. "Darling, are you suggesting that we set those things on healthy survivors...on purpose?"

"Not necessarily through a bitten infection, but I see no problem with it. It would essentially be beneficial for them in the long run, and I believe that it would be an appropriate way for individuals to thank us for providing them with food for a short time."

The elderly woman gave her a pointed look. "Many of them are still weak, Ma'am. Still recovering. It would be incredibly harsh for them to fulfil such a position..."

"Are you arguing with me? Because if anyone here should object to this for any reason, I implore you to speak out."

The scientists of them room were feeling sick, their stomachs churning.

Cedric tried again. "Ma'am, we cannot promise that our research will prove true."

"But you said yourselves; you won't know unless you have the sufficient resources for experiment. Many of the survivors we have taken on board, out of the kindness of our heart, take our resources and often do not give anything back. Some are useful, as some of you will be aware," her eye's flickered to several past survivors who had made their way up the hierarchy into the main set of staff. "However, a large percentage do nothing. They are, as unfortunate as this is, dispensable. You'd better hope that whatever progress you are making goes right, else- how do I put this?- you may end up killing people."

As muscular and brave as he was, Mark fidgeted in his seat, with his step-children equally uncomfortable.

Luca stared down at his hands resting shakily on his lap. This was the first meeting he had been called to as a new member of the administration staff. He only knew of previous human experimentation, when survivors were close to death. Not in full health. He only knew that- when he was blissfully unaware that his mother was commanding her workers to experiment on live zombies. To him, it all made sense. That was the strange feeling of insecurity he felt about the place. It was never truly safe on the inside. He was in complete shock: his mother was getting innocent workers to battle with cannibal corpses and now she wanted her workers to deliberately kill innocent survivors. He didn't feel betrayed however. He always knew there would be a catch to such a 'safe' environment. Nowhere was ever going to be perfect again. Since the apocalypse, his mother had changed into a darker soul, and he tried so desperately to love her but that meeting was bringing all of his attempts to love her to a close. He lost all respect. He lost all will to even remember what she used to be like with his real father before. Even though his sister would continue to suck-up and prove herself to his catastrophically ill-minded mother, he would just have to act as though he cared. He was the only one to understand her for what she was, not as a leader, but as someone who was going wrong in the mind.

The small scientist lady agreed reluctantly to Valerie's suggestion. "I suppose that under the right safety precautions, we could find an ethical way for individuals to be- to- to be conveniently infected. As I believe it, they do not only have to be bitten. As we have learnt before, they need only die for them to turn. We are all infected as such. We just have to find a way to bring them to their...desired demise."

"Simple," said Valerie. "We poison them when they think they are comfortable enough to eat here."

"What if survivors see a pattern in the loss of their friends when staying with us?"

"We must find a way to segregate them all so that they cannot know when other groups disappear. That way no one will become suspicious as they won't know who has been removed or why."

"Private quarters of the building for each set of survivors?"

Valerie smiled. "Precisely."

"And what about useful ones?" A past survivor asked.

She paused to find an answer. "We continue with the usual procedure of making them subject to interviewing and several tests. If they possess desirable qualities for our team, they will not undergo the removal. If we deem them un-useful, we will allow them some time to get comfortable, and then logically remove the newly segregated groups one by one. We can resolve any more issues as they arise. Any objections at this stage?"

Luca's hands twitched eagerly on his lap, but he held them down to his own frustration.

"Then it is agreed." Valerie waved her hands, a gesture which meant that all should rise. "In the forthcoming days we shall segregate the groups of survivors in favour of the required experimentation. I bring this meeting to a close and dismiss you all. Thank you for coming."

Everyone shuffled out of the room in eerie silence, all of them feeling responsible for the impending murder of several innocent people. Valerie's family stayed behind to wish her a private farewell before returning to their day-time duties.

"My children," she cooed. "How was your first meeting?"

"Incredibly intriguing, mother," Jasmine replied. It irked her too that her mother had changed so distinctly, but as the tradition had been her entire life, she would continue to please her mother- her remodel. Of course, she had some doubts about her like she did then, but she would stay true to her traditions.

In a motherly, and uncharacteristic manner, Valerie placed her ice-cold palms around Jasmine's face, as she leaned in to kiss her cheek. It was frighteningly soft and comforting for Jasmine, yet it filled her with glee to know that her loyalty provoked her mother to show more affection.

"I'm glad you felt this way, darling. And you, Luca?"

He looked up impassively and presented her with a reply that he could almost tell she knew was fake. "Excellent. It is good to know that progress towards a cure is being made." Valerie's piercing eyes bore into Luca's. Instead of saying anything towards her shifty son, she ushered her children away for a private conversation with Mark.

* * *

"Eileen finish that squirrel up! I found an apple tree when I was cooking it not far away, and I'm gonna need you to use that bag of yours to carry a hell load of them back here!" Carl shouted from downstairs.

When the squirrel had been cooked, Eileen took some from Carl (after making yet another swift comment about him being a smelly moron) and raced back upstairs to continue reading from whatever captivating non-fiction book she had acquired from a bedroom closet. She still felt herself hyper-aware of every move Carl made when he was near. Just because he had finally realised the loss of his group, it didn't necessarily mean that he wouldn't return to his episodically murderous self in an instant. She felt that she had to wait a few days before she could fully comprehend the unbelievably rapid improvement.

_Maybe he really has got back to how he used to be, and I am just over-worrying about it. _

As she heard him shout, she was immediately drawn away from the text in front of her, and she sub-consciously wavered her hand about her belt, ready to use the gun she retrieved not long before from the kitchen floor.

_I think you'll be fine. And, if he does slit your throat, don't act like you tried to stop it. You could have left. Just don't make yourself regret anything. Be careful. I think you'll be fine, though. _

She came down the stairs with her bag, slowly, in search of Carl who had been doodling down there for the last hour.

"What?" she said, walking in and out of rooms to find him. "Finally get bored of drawing Bart Simpson badly?" She laughed, still wavering about her gun.

Her breathing hitched when he snorted from a meter behind her. She jumped a little, and turned around to see him. It didn't take long for them to realise that they had reunited themselves...in the kitchen.

She looked down at her feet and then back up at him trying to forget what happened a few hours ago. As she rose her head, her eyes trailed his body from his feet, to his sheriff's hat. Eileen noted that he didn't smell half as bad as he had hours ago; that his shoes were the same, but his skin was clearer and his clothes were an exact match of the ones she had set out for him. Her eyes widened.

"You're wearing- you're wearing the clothes for once? And washing?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

He smiled. "It just seemed like a good idea today. I guess you've been right this whole time. It feels a lot nicer to be fractionally cleaner, for once."

Eileen forced a smirk to hide her awe. "Stop talking and let's just get the apples, you moron."

* * *

**Thank you for taking the time to read and possibly review. I appreciate the support :)**

**Many Oranges :D**


	16. The Heroine in the Cold

Over the next few days of walking around, taking down small groups of walkers and rationing the apples they'd collected, Eileen and Carl found themselves sitting under a tree with their arms wrapped around themselves for warmth.

"It's cold," Carl said dumbly, taking the first crunch and dribbling with happiness at the fruit.

Eileen gave a look of disgust at his slobber, but essentially did the same. "Agreed. Next house we find, I might consider getting a coat."

"If you can find one,"

"Easy," she waved her hand. "Everyone has a coat. Well, most people. It's hardly likely they all took their coats on the run. I mean, it was kind of Summer time when this all happened."

"Eh, maybe I'll get one too."

She sighed. "Might be more difficult for you. As I believe it, men don't tend to have as many coats- they prefer to brave the cold weathers in a T-Shirt."

"Not all men are like that-"

"-No. Because some men are smart. And don't smell, like you."

He threw his hands up in objection. "I washed, didn't I?"

"Carl, ten washes couldn't stop you from smelling."

"Rude,"

"Truthful."

He carried on eating his apple. "So why's green your favourite colour?"

"Huh?" Eileen leaned away from him in surprise that he remembered. "Um...It just means life and nature and- yeah, all that good stuff. Green is everywhere and it is persisting. God, that was too deep..." she laughed.

"Okay, well if you wondered, mine is white."

"Odd. White is a combination of every colour!" She grinned, but her smile began to fall when she noticed that he had never been taught about light colouring. "Maybe I'll explain that another time. For now, why?"

"Because it's bright. I dunno...I guess these days, everything is black and dark."

She nodded. "You like white, because everything else is gloomy. Interesting. I always thought you were the pink kind of person..." She wiggled her eyebrows and looked away before falling on her side with a hard shove from Carl.

"Shut up!" He chuckled.

"Hey! Nothing wrong with pink."

Their hushed laughter was promptly interrupted by a walker stumbling towards them with great hunger in its eyes.

"Mine," Carl growled. He jumped forward and swung his knife through its skull and watched it fall to the ground.

Eileen was sitting up on her knees savouring every bite of the apple, despite the fact she had reached the core. She watched as Carl took down the zombie and wiped his blade on the zombie's rotting clothes.

He gestured for her to get up and follow him and she did so, while removing the pips from her apple and placing them into her pip pot with the rest of them. Carelessly, she threw the upper-most part of the apple (with the stalk) down at her feet, by the grass, and then flipped her bag over her shoulder. She was exceptionally cold and tired, yet she felt that for once she wasn't hungry.

"We are going to find us some coats." Carl announced.

She answered: "We need a house first, moron."

"And we will. I am sure there are houses an hour or so away. We'll get there."

"I'm not worried about getting there. We're sort of a good team." She walked ahead, inhaling the frosty air. "It'll be Christmas soon."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Just thought that I should say. Maybe it'll improve the morale. We haven't done anything fun for about four years."

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his new, oversized jeans. "I'd say our card game a while back was alright."

"Wasn't _that_ fun though..."

He argued. "No, Eileen, you're just annoyed that a 'moron' like myself could beat you. You can't handle someone who isn't as smart beating you."

"Yeah, well, I am pretty sure you cheated." She shrugged.

"Hm..."

Eileen turned to him as they carried on walking. The wind was blowing her messy, plaited hair about her face, and her already struggling eyes were squinting at the gale-force winds. "When I said 'fun', _Grimes_, I meant something cool. I used to do cool stuff."

"I thought you said you went to boarding school?" He gave her a dumb look.

She furrowed her brows. "First of all, I should tell you that boarding school can offer a vast range of extra-curricular opportunities. And secondly, I was only in my first year when people started coming back from the dead, so I'd never got to experience any of it. No, I meant I used to do a lot of cool things...with my u-uncle." Eileen felt herself going very quiet towards the end of her speaking, her head falling a little.

_You never checked to see if he was alive, you monster. He did EVERYTHING for you- he would've wanted me to carry on. He would've wanted me to live. Focus on the road. _

"You've never mentioned an uncle before."

"I never knew what happened to him."

The two of them walked in silence for a bit longer. The path was dusty and bare.

"My uncle and I were close. He was like a father, actually. I was almost always at his house when I wasn't stuck at my parents' mansion." She bit down at the thought of her own parents. "My parents were charitable towards others, but in private the were very rude. They refused to let me attend the Girl Scouts because apparently that was for middle-classed and lower. She never let me go to the movies and watch cool action films. I never got to do cool stuff like fishing. And I certainly had never seen a kitchen up until I was about six at my uncle's house. He taught me everything I was never allowed to learn. He let me be a normal person. He was amazing."

"He sounds it."

She smiled thoughtfully. "I still remember when he taught me how to cook the fish that we caught, professionally. He was so down to earth."

Carl was interested in the wealth of her uncle as opposed to the wealth of her parents. "Was he loaded too?"

"Mmhm, yes. Except he really was charitable. _Always_. About three-quarters of his money always went to worthy causes, and he spent a heck load of time taking care of me and bringing me up properly. He never cared for my siblings: he always said that they were too spoilt as it was, and that I was different. He saw himself in me, I suppose." She said. "He was right. I am just like him. I might even say I look like him. Same hair, eyes, teeth; same personality and morals."

"...so you don't know whether he's alive, or not?"

She paused in her tracks. Her hands began to shake. She dropped her knife at her feet and found herself frozen.

_C'mon. Don't think about it. You're wasting time. GROW UP, YOU CAN'T THINK ABOUT THESE THINGS. IT CAN'T BE HELPED. _

Eileen ignored her thoughts and found herself crippling over into a tight ball on the floor. Tears began to stream down her face as she cried and cried, but no noise came out. Her tears were empty of sound, yet meaningful. Every tear drop was near to becoming an icicle on her aching skin. Carl found himself walking over and sitting down next to her.

_Should I hug her? What do I say? You shouldn't have asked._

She kept shaking her head, but she acknowledged Carl drawing nearer. As he placed a caring hand on her shoulder, she hissed at the contact.

"I- I shouldn't cry..."

"Why not?"

She couldn't answer for a long time. Images of her jovial uncle fled back to her mind. How large he looked to her hen she was just three; how loud and infectious his laugh was when they played catch; how intelligent and determined he was when he demonstrated skills to her. She hoped with all her being that her uncle was still alive, and that his knowledge kept him that way. Though each and every close encounter told her that skills were not the only thing you required in order to sustain survival.

"...when I left my parents, I wanted to turn round and f-find h-him. But-but-b-but I didn't. I told myself not to. After everything he did for me, I-I-I I left him."

His heart almost ached to see her in a mess. It was completely out of character. Somehow, inside, he felt slightly relieved to know that she did have an extraordinarily human side. At long last, he had finally seen what he had dreamt of seeing when he first met her. He always wanted to for her to admit she was scared. Even if she didn't say it in words, he knew that was showing a side of her that _wasn't _proud, and _wasn't _emotionless. "Don't cry, it's not your fault."

"I shouldn't cry beca-because I'm not allowed to. If I was, I would've been dead long ago. B-but I am crying."

He gave her a small pat. "That's because some people have to let themselves feel. That's what a friend of mine told me. Some people just have to let out their emotions. They can't hold everything forever."

"...no, Carl. I- I am crying be-because I am..._scared._"

He said nothing but continued to sit by her side as her breathing become more steadied. He could feel that her tears were dying away and that her head was becoming much clearer as she released all of her pent up feelings. it felt odd that not long ago they were practically lusting for one another's blood, and now they were relying on each other. It wouldn't be long after he helped her through her tears that they'd either go back to being happy, or getting irritated by one another.

She forget about his appalling stench and frustratingly close proximity, and forced herself to welcome his comfort.

_What is happening to me?_

* * *

Out on the road, Daryl had killed several birds with several stones, so Rosita, Tara and Maggie headed off into the nearest forest to collect kindling to cook their meals with.

"I'm starved." Rosita said.

Tara giggled. "Same. Not sure how a few small birds are going to feed us lot."

"We'll manage," Maggie smiled. "We always do."

Carol had pulled together a few plastic garbage bags for them to place the kindling in.

Tara gave Rosita a cheeky look before disappearing behind a tree in order to lift a massive log. "Hey, Rosy!" He laughed. "How's your ginger ninja?"

She scoffed. "Are you serious? That's what you're calling him? You're so immature..."

"Yeah, Abraham's a cool name already. He needs to be brought down a bit from his high, big man pedestal!" Maggie added, dumping a pile of leaves and small twigs into the bag that Rosita was holding.

"We're good." she nodded. "He's musculus as usual. We don't talk that often; we speak with our eyes."

"Oh Lord," Tara whined. "Are you for real? 'We speak with our eyes'!" She mimicked in a dreamy way.

"Shut yo' mouth!" Rosita boomed, replicating that of Abraham's fierce voice. The three of them laughed in reply.

The bag was beginning to become heavy, so Rosita dropped in onto the floor and bent over to tie it shut. Tara came only to assist her, and then sided on picking the large bag up. "What about Glenn, Maggie?"

"Very sweet. He spends a lot of time with Noah," she answered, leaning against a tree.

"Jealous?" laughed Tara.

"Nah, I'm glad he's got someone else to obsess over."

Placing her hands on her hips, Rosita tilted her head to the side and gave Tara a sad look. "Well, you're gay. So I can only think of one person available to you, and that would be Carol."

"Mmmm," Tara suggestively wobbled her eyebrows. "What-a-lady!"

"Control yourself!" Maggie ordered. "She's way too old for you-"

Tara interrupted through her own cackles. "-I'm kidding, I'm kidding! She's lovely, but no thanks. She's got her Pookie or whatever..."

Squealing with feigned excitement, Rosita spoke: "Ooh, what about Sasha?"

"Fairly pretty, seems cool. We're not especially close though and I don't think she was ready for anyone else after... Bob, was it?"

The happiness seemed to hush. Maggie coughed to bring the girls' attention. "Right, let's head back, else Daryl while have our heads. He's starvin' too,"

Quietly, the three of them made for their temporary camp- which was approximately ten to fifteen minutes away- and Tara quickly looked back into the forest behind them.

She was startled to notice about a dozen walkers shuffling between some trees not far from them.

"Guys," she whispered nervously. "Walkers. Maybe ten or twelve? What do we do?" She continued to look about. "Run?"

Rosita turned around, and brandished her gun. "Can't- they're too close. Plus, it looks like they don't know we're here."

Maggie rushed over to another generously sized log. "Better that it stays that way. You two, climb them trees over there. I'll hide here..." she pointed towards a thick, tall tree about a meter away. "Make no noise until we can see that the coast is clear. The tree'll be a vantage point. I'll throw the log when they come towards us to put them off."

"Are you sure?" Rosita frowned.

Tara was already climbing the nearest tree, as far as she could, struggling to breathe as she tried to cover up her existence in the forest. Her panicked eyes were wide, and her heart pounded when she realised her closest friends were still lurking where they could be found. "C'mon!" She decided to leave the bag of kindling at the bottom to avoid time loss.

"I'm fine, just go!" Maggie pushed Rosita in the direction of the tree.

Doing as Maggie said, Rosita got herself steadily and stealthily up a tree. If there was one thing she could say she was proud of, it was her flexibility. She didn't have to exert as much energy as anyone else in the group might have. She was in a tree near to Tara: she could see her friend sitting apprehensively on a branch trying desperately not to move a muscle. They made fearful eye contact but stayed silent. Their small breaths became vaporised in front of them.

The waited for what seemed to be an eternity for the walkers to get past them, as as the moans grew louder, they grew equally impatient.

It anguished Rosita to see Tara in the tree looking so lonely. Of course, the girl was always particularly humorous and cheerful when there was no danger, but the idea that she might never find love annoyed her slightly. Her eyes were steely as she sat there alone, and Rosita tried to keep eye contact with her, for reassurance. Without her smile, Tara looked like a completely different being.

Similarly, Tara looked at Rosita was concern. The walkers were making their way through the centre of the two trees they hid in, and at long last, Maggie threw the log to distract the lot of them, before scurrying up her own tree for safety. Delicately, the three of them exchanged looks as the heavy rotting smell slapped them mercilessly across the face making breathing even more difficult that it already was.

It was with glee that Maggie sat in her tree. Closing her eyes for a short moment to feel relief, she was glad that her plan worked. Back at the farm, she wouldn't have even imagined of doing such a risky thing to save herself, let alone three close friends she would have never even met before the apocalypse.

All was too good to be true, though. Shortly after she had gotten momentarily complacent, a small rodent began to scratch the the plastic bag beneath Tara's designated tree creating a rough noise. The walkers all simultaneously turned around, with as much interest as something undead could show. Each flesh eating nightmare limped over to the bottom of the trunk before scooping the rodent up and gorging out on its entrails. Rosita quietly lent forward to get a better look at Tara who sat there, horrified, looking down at the small herd of them. She had her hands clasped over her mouth.

Maggie too gestured for her to relax and, noticing her gestures, she did so. Tara was incredibly brave, as the entire group knew, and with walker combat concerned, she was more than skilled. However, with regard to tree climbing- it was not her field of expertise and with that many walkers waiting to sniff her out, she began to show some of the fright she had hidden for a long time.

_They're going to smell me, I can see it happening. _She looked down at them with pure hatred. She began to become conscious of how tightly she was then holding onto to the tree, scared that she might fall off and present herself as dinner for the undead.

It seemed that Maggie's plan was spiralling out of control. She pushed the guilt to the back of her mind and steadied her eyes on Tara, her gun at hand.

A small bead of sweat was all it took for things to take another miserable turn. It trickled down from Tara's forehead, and landed promptly on that of a very tall walker who looked up and noticed Tara shifting in her spot.

The walker had strips of flesh between its teeth as it growled and reached up for her, and Tara stabbed it right in the eyeball, which unfortunately, attracted the attention of the others. The lot of them hungrily reached up to her. In an attempt to stay out of there reach, she clung even tighter to the branches, accidentally dropping the knife.

"Shit!" she cursed angrily, trying to dislodge the gun she put back in her belt, while keeping steady.

Immediately, Rosita almost fell from her tree and fired several shots towards them, taking out only a couple. "Maggie!" she yelled. She hadn't noticed that Maggie already had done the same thing by also running towards the herd, firing more shots. Many shots were successful, especially as Tara began to shoot too.

Three of the walkers rounded on Rosita who felt fuelled by aggression, and smashed one of their skulls with the back of her gun, and blasted the forehead of the other. Then, to lessen the amount of ammo used, she whipped out her knife and finished the last of the three before heading over to Tara who was still in the tree.

Speedily, she put her arms up to help Tara down, as Maggie got the attention of the last few and got them away. It was much more difficult because Tara continued to shoot at the walkers at the same time.

"My foot!" Tara grunted. "I think it's twisted, or something. I can't move."

Rosita nodded. "I'm going to get you down." Finally, she lifted Tara up and as she went to put her down, a walker abruptly emerged from behind the tree and took a large chunk from Rosita's shoulder.

The scream of absolute agony was the only thing that could be heard in that one moment, and she dropped Tara.

"Rosita!" Maggie cried from behind the herd she was narrowing down.

The bleeding woman, ignored Maggie's calls and her own excruciating pain, and instead threw the walker that bit her into a tree trunk and yelled in its face before violently killing it.

Tara looked up at her paling saviour from the forest floor, and the spilling blood fell upon her bad foot. "...Rosy..." She got herself promptly up and helped Maggie destroy the last few with the weakened woman.

The three of them stared exhaustedly at the pile of corpses, and then at each other. Rosita fell feint to the ground, her pallid skin as growing as cold as the air around them.

"Help me carry her back!" Tara screamed at Maggie, and they both scooped her into their arms and ran as fast at they could back to the camp, as the blood run down her lifeless arm and onto Tara's forehead. They didn't have time to whimper- they had to get her back in time.

* * *

Back at the camp, the entire group stood armed at the sound of barely audible screams and gun shots.

"Is it them?" Abe asked.

"Not sure," Rick grunted before guiding them all out in the direction the three women went. "There's only one way to find out. A few of you stay back and guard the camp."

An ensemble of Michonne, Noah, Sasha and Eugene did so, as the others went in search of the noise.

In the distance, they noticed a couple of people running with a body in their arms.

Glenn set up for a sprint and he called out to those behind. "It's Rosita!"

Upon hearing the news, Abraham broke into an even faster run, his muscles flexing as everything he'd hoped would never happen, began to happen around him. He couldn't even feel the others also running to catch up with the two of them.

He eventually reached Maggie and Tara, who were aching all over and persisting onwards, with a lifeless Rosita in their arms. Abraham shed a small tear; he gently removed Rosita from their arms and ran back to camp with her blood trickling down his clothes.

"She's breathing," Maggie called whilst running with Glenn and Tara. "But she's dying!"

Tara felt her tears fall away with the wind when she limped behind the two of them. "She- she got bit. She got bit trying to save me and Maggie!"

"C'mon!" Rick shouted. "Move it, we have a life to save!"

From slicing some carrots for cooking, Michonne heard everyone's shouts get closer. Immediately, she grabbed her sword, and the others spread out with their weapons.

"It ain't a herd! Rosita's been bit!" Daryl alerted them all.

Tara paced about, crying, as she saw Abraham cuddle his lover, his face livid. "What can we do?"

Suddenly, Carol appeared at Abe's side with some alcohol rub. "She's infected, losing blood and might die. We're going to need to cut her arm off."

"She's already lost tonnes of blood-" Maggie notified Carol.

"DO WE CUT IT OFF OR NOT?"

Abraham felt his tears fall slowly. He hadn't cried for an awfully long time. Four years to be perfectly exact. And yet here the Sargent was, cradling his Rosita in his arms, crying. He was about to demand that her arm be cut off and she be rescued, when her eyes flickered open for a moment.

Everyone rushed to circle her.

"Are Tara and Maggie okay?" she blubbered.

Maggie frowned distractedly. "Never mind us, we need to save you!"

"...It's too late. I did my final bit. Thank you for caring for me. All of you..."

Tara balled her fists. "No!" she yelled. "Stop it, Rosy, there is _still-a-way_!"

"...No thanks. I think this is my time, don't you?" She looked up, her half-opened eyes locking with Abraham's, in a loving and grateful way. His too looked into hers and the group watched as the two of them exchanged looks of happiness.

Her eyes fell wide open, and her body went completely cold. Rosita Espinosa died heroically.

Abraham brought his lover up to his chest and grasped her tightly. Perhaps Abraham was in denial of his loss.

Rosita and Abraham never spoke too often. Their love was quite underrated because of this. And as much as Abraham willed for her survival, he knew from her eyes that she was ready to let go.

Yes, they never spoke too often. Their partnership was discrete and largely unconsidered.

_Everyone_ saw her heroic death. But the couple only spoke of their love with their eyes, so only _they_ could hear it.

* * *

Valerie stood in the camera room watching the first experimentation happen live. A few afternoons following the board room meeting, some of her social workers had constructed a series of segregated accommodation suites, and had placed the groups of families in them. Valerie also ordered the science department to fashion a poisonous chemical quickly. In time, they decided to slip it into the tea of one of their long-time residents. It only took a couple of hours for this particular survivor to fall limp, at which stage, some of the armed people dragged them from their suite into the science lab, without informing the other members of their group, and tied him to an operating bed.

Cedric swallowed regretfully as he held a syringe containing the newly found substance. Before this all happened, he'd only wanted to make it home to his family after being deployed. This was a whole new kind of war, and before he was demanded to inject the substance by his small, and equally guilty feeling colleague Harriet, he looked away for a small moment to apologise to the God he thought he knew, and prayed that he wouldn't go to hell for indirectly causing this survivor's death.

Quickly, Harriet grabbed a clipboard and a stop watch and began to notate her observations as she hid behind her designated, armed protector.

From the camera room, Valerie watched the entire thing happen. She grew bored within the first five minutes of the injection, as the patient strapped down just seemed to lay still.

"Nothing's happening," the camera man vocalised.

She rolled her eyes. "Well observed- wait-" She stepped closer to another video feed of the building's entrance gate that displayed two small moving figures. "What's that?" she squinted to get a better look.

Turning to see what she saw, his eyes widened. "They look like...kids! How on Earth-?"

"What does this mean?" asked one of the guards women.

Valerie groaned frustratedly, trying to hide her developing anxiety. "Think logically! It's obvious what it means! They are children, who are _alive_! That can mean that they are either harnessing their super human abilities," she explained condescendingly. "Or it means we are in danger of meeting a bigger group."

"So what do we do?"

"We let them in of course," she said, with a motherly grin plastered across her face. She turned around and exited the door, summoning the guards with her to get the children. She spoke her last words to herself. "...And we won't be letting them back out..."

After watching his boss leave the room, the camera man turned back to the video feed and studied the children carefully. For two smaller human beings, they appeared to be very healthy.

There stood a boy, and a girl. The male was lanky, with a large gun and a sheriff's hat, and the female was smaller yet she held forward two guns.

* * *

**Author's note:**

**Thank you for taking the time to read, and I apologise about the loss of what I believe it an awesome character. **

**Many Oranges. **


	17. You Think You'll Be Okay

"Carl," Eileen began anxiously staring up at the huge building. It was placed behind incredibly tall, brick walls and a steel entrance gate. To the upper-left corner of the gate, a small security camera seemed to twitch at their presence outside the vicinity. "Let's go. Now. We don't know what's in there."

He huffed. "It's too late, now. Besides, my Dad might be in there."

"You don't know that, moron!" she hissed, edging backwards, trying to get out of sight of the camera. "It's dangerous! The camera- it's moving. It means there are people inside."

"So you're saying that we leave my Dad inside there-"

"I'm saying that you can't be sure he's there. If I were alone, I would've avoided this place completely. We don't know how much time we have, _Grimes_, so we need to get moving right now."

She made to walk away stealthily, but was stopped in her tracks when she could not feel Carl reluctantly following after her.

_To think for a moment I thought he was actually tolerable; that he might for one moment not do something reckless._

He repeated himself. "It's too late to leave now, Eileen. Especially if they know we're here." Cautiously, he squinted up at the camera, slinging his gun forward with concentrated, bloodthirsty eyes. "If they've seen us, leading them away is equally dangerous. We could get into all sorts of trouble on the run. We need to confront them in person."

Obvious concern and fright wavered across the girl's face. "I thought we agreed that I would make survival decisions."

"That was before we reached whatever this is!" he argued back to her. It was as though they had return to the hostility they had towards one another when they first met.

_Should I leave Carl alone? I could go now. He probably wouldn't tell whoever's in there where I went. He'd just investigate matters himself and continue as if I didn't exist._

He bit back at her. "You gonna leave, huh? I knew it. You can't face your problems. Well news flash Eileen, YOU CAN'T RUN AWAY FROM THEM EITHER. YOU DON'T GET TO HAVE A GOOD TIME ALL THE TIME. If being in my group has taught me anything, it's that the bad people always find you in the end. But, not everyone is a bad person." Carl paused to check back at the camera in thought. He looked back at Eileen. "Like you-"

"Yeah, exactly! I don't want trouble! Let's just get the hell out of here before they take action. They might not have even checked their cameras."

"You clearly don't understand what bad people do if they're not dealt with."

"You're right, but I have an equally strong understanding of how long you can survive if you avoid them." She sucked back air, fighting the anger inside of her. This was a scenario she didn't have an answer to- one of the drawbacks to being alone for a long time. She didn't know how to operate with other people, particularly bad groups. "Carl, I say this because I am honest. _I don't know what to do. It will only make things worse if you do this with me_."

He strode over to her and stared through her eyes as they found themselves extremely close. There was something merciless about Carl's tone; perhaps an underlining of hatred to all those who had destroyed innocent lives of those he loved.

_I had to watch Hershel be beheaded. Beth got bumped off. Mom…if it weren't for the Governor she might have made it out alive. Bad people equal bad consequences. I can't let bad people go. Dad wouldn't want me to. Michonne would want me to be brave. I have to take risks to save countless others. Yet, Dad would want me to be safe. Shame it's too late to be safe now that I'm effectively on my own these days. How am I supposed to know whether he's inside if I don't go in there myself. Dad…if he's not in there, they've probably written me off as dead a long time ago, so they won't miss me if things go wrong. As for Eileen…maybe her saving me was a sign I have to help her. She's survived alone, but my existence might be to drive her existence onward. Maybe we met so I could teach her to confront others. I've only just mended a companionship with her… she's not leaving me just yet. Besides, I can't take everyone on alone. _

Carl gritted his teeth together as he growled in fury. "You're going to have learn one way or another, Eileen. So here is what's going to happen. We're going to go in. If anyone tries to attack us, you shoot. Right at them. Don't second-guess it. If walkers come, you attack them. Try and stay with me: we're better as a team, not separate- and don't try to argue about that." He added this realising that she was about to counter his command. "And if we get taken in for questioning, you say we have a group. Make sure that they're frightened of us. Use your skills to your advantage. Use some mind games if you can even unlock that side to you. Keep your weapons on you at all times, unless they're taken. At which point…"

"Yes?"

He bit his lip. "We'll have to figure that out. Usually people that capture people and take their weapons have a motif. Food, supplies, you know the drill. This place looks fairly new, so I sense they have some reason for being here. If you sense that you're about to be tortured, scream. Try to get my attention. I'll do the same for you and I expect you to have my ass in there.

"Carl, I don't know how to save you. I barely know how to save myself." Nervous, she shook her head.

"You've saved me before. You're smart- I trust you. Do you trust me?"

She considered this. Did she trust him? Of course, it's crossed her mind before. Now she was assessing the situation and its multitude of potential outcomes through her head. Could she trust herself to take care of his life when those who are not yet undead threaten it?

"…Yes."

At which point several surly men unformed in military clothing wrenching open the gates with a lady with jet-black, bob-cut hair. They were greeted by the teens: Carl stood readily with his gun, and Eileen stood a little less confidently with her weaponry, mimicking Carl's actions. Despite their forward thinking, defensive statures, the group who approached them were ultimately unarmed, aside from small pocket knives to wipe out any approaching walkers. Of course, this did not get Carl and Eileen to change from their positions.

The leading woman stepped forward with a military man and woman at her side. "Good afternoon. We noticed you in our security cameras. Please, lower your weapons. We mean no harm,"

Eileen made restricted eye contact with Carl who did not move his weapons an inch.

"Prove it," Carl barked, wiggling his gun towards the lady.

"Our intentions are purely charitable. We wish to take you inside. Obviously, we are aware that you may not feel comfortable with our abrupt, caring mannerisms, but we only wish to restore you to full health. At which point, you may leave. First however, we ask that you _please lower your weapons_."

"What's the catch?"

"Catch?" She laughed sickeningly sweetly. "Children, there is no catch. Your stay with us is free of charge. We have a great defence system as you may have noticed from these lovely brick walls and the small selection of a vast military group we have here."

Eileen shakily spoke. "How do we know you won't do something to us as soon at the weapons are put down? You wouldn't put your weapons down, would you…?"

Her prominent, sharp facial features were rather daunting. "My name is Valerie Freund. This place is my home. After much tragic loss, we constructed this place to house survivors. Of course, we wish for you to work a little here, but apart from that, we just wish to keep you healthy and…safe. We will not attack you if you put your weapons down. If you don't though, we will have to take action. And a bloodbath would be rather unfortunate given I barely know your names and your usefulness. I have people to protect, you know."

After trying her best to read and interpret the thoughts of this Valerie stranger, Eileen turned to face Carl who grudgingly indicated for them to both drop their weapons ahead of them. They did so, Eileen's fingers trembling with anxiety. She was defenceless.

"Thank you for co-operating. We will remove your weapons and give them back to you should you decide to leave later on. For now, we would like to welcome you inside."

Two men scooped up the guns and knives they had left on the floor and the group of military staff circled around the pair of children as they directed themselves through the gate. Carl and Eileen stood close together following the group lead by Valerie.

Carl whispered to Eileen. "Stay calm, don't flail. Stupid stuff like that gets you killed faster."

"Faster?" she groaned. "You have moronicly walked us into a death zone again, except this time we have no means of getting out. And I wasn't planning on flailing. I'm planning on facing my imminent death."

"We've not been marked for death just yet. Stay sharp. Look out for traps and don't reveal too much information if asked."

"Just tell them about our 'group'." She told herself.

"Yeah," he nodded back. "Glad you remembered."

"They don't seem like they want to kill us,"

He looked around to see whether anyone was eavesdropping on their silent exchange. "They're very good at covering things up. If they really don't, then I suppose it wouldn't be too foolish to get a closer look at things. Just don't think about it. Getting your hopes up makes the bad things ten times worse. Trust me. When I was at this prison before the Woodbury incidents…I thought it was for the long haul. I was wrong."

"Quit the whispering," said a large man with carrying Carl's gun. "If you have any questions, you ask us in person,"

They stayed silent until they reached the entrance hall of the huge building and were thrown in a shoebox-sized room with two of the men. Immediately, Carl swung his fists at the closes door. One of the men pulled his arms behind his back to restrain him. Eileen looked hopelessly at Carl struggling. Even with her lack of people skills, it seemed only right to help him, but his face told her to back off. Any attempt to free Carl would most probably fail and make matters worse.

"This is just temporary. We need to discuss with my group whether we all agree to keep you here. You might be a threat," Valerie explained from the outside. "This is not violence. Only a precaution. We do this will all our intakes. I'm sure you understand."

Inside though, there was a part of her that really did feel threatened by the children. It was embarrassing to say the least.

Valerie turned around smoothly, moving quickly down the corridor back to her office. Behind her, several of her staff tried desperately to keep up her speed. She needed to interview the two of them and draw out as much information at possible. Her people's lives were at stake and to her, the danger of what taking them in brings may jeopardise the experiments: the one reason she still believed she was living.

One lady found herself almost sprinting to reach her boss' side. "Ma'am, what would you like us to do with the kids?"

All of a sudden, Valerie reached a halt. A plan seeded excellently inside of her head, and began to grow phenomenally fast; fuelled by the satisfaction she got from knowing her plan could be successful.

"Sally," Valerie spoke. "These are children. They are clearly long-time survivors, so they will be difficult, especially if they have had survival driven into them, unlike adults we take in who are just adapted to this world. They only way to tap into children their age is via their one true weakness- their hormones. We need to get to unveil their secrets when they think they are comfortable…"

The woman she spoke to shied away, a lump forming at the back of her throat. "It sounds awfully dramatic for two mid-teens-"

"Are you saying I am wrong?" Valerie narrowed her eyes at the younger woman, who tripped back at the paranoid, fierce look in her boss' eyes. Like daggers, they might've have killed her if she was too close to them.

"N-n-no, no. I just- please, how can I help?"

"You must summon my children. They're going to interview our new intakes as opposed to me." She smiled calmly.

Luca made his way through the corridor after being abruptly extracted from his admin office. It was unusual that his mother interrupt is work- though it was a tedious and less-respected task in the grand scheme of things, the administration meant he needed to organise studies and reports on experimentations and patients. Any interruption could render the gathering of data faulty, and ruin the entire function of this building: this safe house.

In front of him, his elder sister Jasmine excitedly joined him on his way to his mother's office. It appeared that they were summoned at the same time for an unspecified reason. Lord knows, he was terrified of his mother. He was well aware that this world had changed her into a scheming dictator. The replacement of his father by Mark aggravated him, however unimportant it was compared to the notion that the dead were rising. He still believed that he reserved the right to uphold an opinion on his step-father, but with his mother controlling the safe house, he couldn't even express happiness unless he was being told to. His sister on the other hand tried desperately to get their mother's attention. It had been clear for a long while that she was the preferred child, yet Valerie had lost all interest in either children in recent times, and feigned such interest in order to keep Jasmine and onlookers happy.

Luca could see right through his mother. His deepest worry was whether she was seeing through his façade. Whenever asked, he was making sure that other staff members believed his mother's decision to kill off residents was necessary. Because of this, word would spread that the offspring of their dictator approved, and therefore people continued as if they all believed in Valerie. Of course, very few did. People were just to scared to say anything. The same went for Luca.

He thought perhaps if he told everyone he agreed, no one-especially not his mother- would suspect that he was spending his nights working out ways to leave.

Now was just a case of keeping a steely, impassive look as he entered his mother's office, looking prepared and ready to do her bidding. The difference between him and his sister was that he was faking it, and she truly desired to do as his mother said.

Unless his father was brought up, or she felt frightened. She was too weak to admit she feared her mother and convinced herself it was tough love.

As much as he loved his sister, Luca lost all respect for her.

He entered the door and politely held it open for his sister to come in. The two of them kept their heads down respectfully as they reached their mother's desk. She sat there sipping from a cup of coffee.

"Children," she said, her tone soft. "I have a job for you. Since you have worked tirelessly-" she made eye contact with Luca who shifted in his spot. "-to support the administrative sector of this building, I would like to congratulate you by temporarily promoting you."

Luca half-suspected that this was a overstated way of informing them about a vacancy in the kitchen.

"How, Mom?" Jasmine gleamed, practically unable to contain happiness. It seemed by her standards that she had met her mother's approval.

"My dears, I would like you to interview our new intakes."

"But," Jasmine choked. "Wha-how? I have no experience. I wouldn't want to disappoint you…"

Valerie gestured for her children to sit in the arm chairs placed at the front of the desk. "You will not need experience talking to these two."

"_Two,_" Jasmine repeated.

"Yes, two. A boy and a girl, about your ages." Luca listened more interestedly. "I hope this does not make you uncomfortable as your mother, but as they are young and more vulnerable to the opposite sex, I wish for you to make an impression on them, in order to extract information about their assets and their past. I trust this will be more effective with you two, as you are the same age and painfully good looking."

Jasmine sunk down. _I look like my father. _She furrowed her eyebrows for a brief moment, before grinning again.

"Do they know they are being interrogated? Or is conversation meant to be discrete, as if you might _overhear_ what we are talking about?" Luca said.

She place her coffee down. "They are aware they are being interviewed. It gives off the appearance that we too are fragile and need to protect ourselves. With you to co-ordinating the interviews, we hope to make them feel more comfortable."

"Are you going to kill them right away?" Luca said with spite; an involuntary question just spewed from his lips before he could control himself.

Jasmine immediately felt uncomfortable. Scared for her brother, but wholly unsurprised by whatever she was about to do.

Her eyes blackened and disappointment in her son filled the air.

"You'll be interviewing the boy first, Jasmine." She said, stilling glaring at Luca. "He's younger, so I believe it might be easier for you."

"I will try my best, Mom,"

"I suspect your intentions are much more pure than your brother's, so I know I will see good results. I will give you a camera to record the interview. Jasmine stay here. Luca, leave. I will have you brought back when you can interview the girl."

* * *

It was but minutes later, when Carl was dragged by his clothes into a room, occupied by only a small camera, and a girl with red hair who by his knowledge might be considered fairly attractive. She looked up from her desk as he was thrown in, and the door slammed immediately behind him.

He'd never imagined himself feeling this way, but he felt shivers from the cold, yet almost endearing look upon the girl's face. Suddenly, he felt uncomfortable and under scrutiny: he carefully tugged his clothes into their rightful position so as to tidy himself up. He stood well-away from the eerily beautiful being behind the desk.

"You can come forward- I won't hurt you," she replied, silkily. She seemed to be fairly reserved with a certain glistening in her eyes, perhaps of excitement. Carl having felt immediately anxious was unable to read the exact emotion on the girl. "Well? Are you going to stand there forever? Come a sit, please," her invitation was calm, and she pointed to a cosy chair ahead of the desk.

_She doesn't look prepared to injure or kill me. Maybe she just wants to reason. I suppose it would be sensible to comply with what she's asking. _

He wouldn't let his recognition of her pretty face distract him from danger, so he cautiously approached the chair before lowering himself into it, refusing to stop making eye contact with the stranger who so desperately wished for him to join her.

"My name is Jasmine Freund. You can call me Jas, if you want to. I trust that you are well?"

He coughed and nodded confusedly.

She smiled. "My mother is the one who greeted you at the gate. She's an exceptional leader, I might add." She leaned forward. "May I ask how old you are?"

"Why?"

"Because," she sighed. "Should you become a resident here, we will need to know. We have to assess your health. If you're interested in knowing, I am nineteen," she whispered, looking at him with greatest interest through her fiercely elongated lashes.

"Fine, sixteen," he informed her.

_She has very nice eyes. Wait- is she recording me? _

Satisfied with his answer she proceeded to look down at her clipboard before looking up and grinning. "I don't suppose you've seen many people your age, have you?"

"Yes. Yes, I have actually."

"Oh really?" She eyes lit up with interest. "How so?"

He sat up and wiped his forehead. "Before this, and some after. Not everyone needed a luxury hotel like this to survive." Carl Grimes was, for a moment, bitter about the fact she had survived so long without trying.

"Mmm," she nodded. "This _is_ like a luxury hotel, isn't it? I never thought of it that way. I always thought it was rather lacking to be fair…I can think of better…"

"Better?" Carl spat, enraged at her ignorance. "This is practically heavenly compared to what's out there."

Jasmine sharply looked down at the younger male. "But you have family, do you not?"

He paused. _The group. Say about a group. _"Yes, quiet a lot survived. Me, and my…er- friend, have a large group. They have a strong arsenal of weapons. It won't be long before they figure out we've been captured-"

"You've been 'captured'? That's a bit extreme. Look, I know the adults around here a pretty daunting," she giggled girlishly, flinging her hair over her shoulder casually. It was as if she was trying desperately relate to the kid. "But they're just a big band of softies, so you've got nothing to worry about."

"I wasn't worried about the softies, _Freund._" He said. "I'm worried about whether you truly understand the threat beyond the gates."

For a moment, brief panic struck her stunning orbs. "Threat? What threat? The undead? I can- I- I can assure you that we have spent multiple years in here with plentiful amounts of ammo and a bunch of armed professionals at hand."

"What if this place fails?"

"Fails?"

He scoffed. "Yeah! Fails! The walls can get pushed down if there are enough of them hungry and riled up out there! What if someone dies in here, and infects everybody else? Do you even know the basics of using a gun, Freund?"

She didn't react at all as he has predicted her to. He imagined violent outrage; for her to stand up and scream like a small child, in denial that her place was safe, but she sat eerily still and gave him another smile. "I don't need to. At this point, I don't even need to know what a zombie is. I'm safe, as long as I am in here. And one day," her shiny lips pursed together. "I might even have children in here…what is your name?"

"…Carl. Carl Grimes, and I think you are delusional and ignorant." He gave her a blackened, foreshadowing glare. "You think you'll be okay, but you're wrong. It's never okay. Communities never win. In fact, they end the most gruesomely."

* * *

**Author's note:**

**Thank you for taking the time to read and possibly review. **

**Many Oranges :)**


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